


Tilt

by Lucency (LuminousLantern)



Series: Redshift [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Ninja Politics, Scheming, Second Shinobi War, Third Shinobi War, Tragedy, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28404903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousLantern/pseuds/Lucency
Summary: Companion piece to Axis. Meant to give a deeper understanding of certain events, but the main story can be read without it.
Series: Redshift [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080386
Kudos: 21





	1. Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended to be read after chapter 10.

"Happy to listen.

"Happy to play.

"Happily watching her drift away."

-Drift Away, Sarah Stiles

* * *

Mamoru knelt, head bowed, back facing the wall. In front of him, Hanzo the Salamander and Danzo Shimura shook hands. Four of them were clustered in the small room, two positioned on either side of the elder from Konoha. A kerosene lantern hung against the wall, between Osamu and Tadao, filling the room with dull orange light.

Danzo, despite missing an eye and having one arm in a sling, didn't look frail. He carried an air of absolute authority about him, and the look in his eye could make a mountain move out of his way. It was only matched by the unyielding will that exuded from Hanzo like the poison on his breath.

Each man stared the other down, still holding hands. It went on for three seconds. Four.

Mamoru discreetly shifted. His calf was starting to burn. Only the six of them knew about this meeting. It started with a scroll, delivered to the border patrol by a member of Root, forehead protector and weapons abandoned, a white cloth tied around her forehead to mark her as a messenger. Without it, she would've been attacked on sight.

Only after Tadao inspected it for traps, seals, or genjutsu was it was delivered to Hanzo.

Mamoru had been present when Hanzo read it, when his eyebrows shot up in surprise and he passed it around for the four of them to read. Shuji was the one who suggested that if Danzo were serious about meeting privately, he should be asked to come alone as a show of good faith. They were all surprised when he did.

Konoha, Suna, and Iwa might have agreed to an armistice and the fighting might have stopped on _their_ borders, but that fragile 'peace' didn't exist in Ame. Mamoru only knew about the armistice because Shuji brought it up while they were dumping the day's dead in the lake that surrounded the village—there were barely any capable shinobi left to fight, let alone to do the menial tasks like gathering the dead and disposing of the bodies. Only the war orphans, injured survivors, and the exceptionally strong were left.

The civilians left in Ame were constantly terrorized by shinobi from Iwa or Suna, who took advantage of the devastated state of the village and looted, murdered, or both. If they were caught and taken into custody—and not killed right then and there—they became food for Hanzo's pet, Ibuse. Sometimes, a team from Konoha would stumble into Ame, unaware that the war was supposedly over.

They never stopped to chat about the state of the world before they leapt at you either.

Five seconds.

The soft patter of the rain on the roof filled the silence. Six. Danzo pulled back first, a small concession of defeat. Mamoru suspected that if he hadn't, he would've been stuck in place until the end of time.

"So we have an agreement, Hanzo of the Salamander?" Danzo asked, hand closing around a cane propped against the wall.

"For now," Hanzo rumbled. "But hear me, Danzo. I will _only_ help you depose your Hokage _after_ you fulfill your end of our agreement. Not before. You will receive no help at all if you decide to go back on our terms."

"I would expect nothing less," the elder said. He didn't incline his head in acknowledgement, nor did he bow. He simply stared for a moment more and turned away. "You'll have your third of Root, as promised."

Mamoru didn't lift his head as Danzo exited the room. He listened to the soft click of the elder's sandals through the paper-thin walls, only looking up when Shuji slid the door to the room shut. Hanzo stood still in the middle of the room, arms crossed, eyes closed.

"Did this go how you thought it would?" Mamoru asked, pushing himself up. His leg ached. When was the last time he slept? Three, four days ago?

"Lord Hanzo," Osamu hissed at him. He was still on one knee.

Mamoru, like the good little soldier he was, waved him off.

Hanzo didn't answer.

"It doesn't matter how well it did or didn't go," Shuji said in his place. His eyes flicked to Hanzo, but the village head didn't tell him he was right or wrong. "Lord Hanzo was aware of how fragile this partnership would be when he agreed to meet. If Danzo is right and another war is on the horizon, we won't have the manpower to survive it. Unfortunately, Danzo knows this. Lord Hanzo will survive the war, but without outside help, Ame may not."

"Tedious," Tadao drawled. His legs were crossed, head tilted back against the wall. "All that double-talk. Why can't anyone just say what they mean and be done with it?"

"We're taking advantage of Danzo," Osamu protested. "Not the other way around. With Danzo on the seat of Hokage, we'll finally have some sway to establish talks with the other villages. We have the same goal, in the end. To unify the Great Nations."

"Blockhead," Tadao said quietly.

Osamu glared at him. Out of all of them, he was both the tallest and the biggest, second in raw physical power only to Hanzo. "Tell me why I'm wrong."

"Danzo won't keep to his word," Shuji spoke.

Osamu faced him.

"We'll get half of a third of Root, or a third of that at most. Since we don't have spies in Konoha, we have no way of knowing how little of his forces we're actually getting." Shuji shook his head. "And though they might listen to Lord Hanzo for now, they'll always be loyal to Danzo."

Osamu's thick brows drew together. "Then why are we letting them—"

"Do you think the four of us could hold off Konoha, Iwa, Suna, and whoever else gets involved in another war by ourselves?" Tadao interrupted, eyes closed.

Mamoru looked at Hanzo. It was hard to tell if he heard anything that was being said, or he was ignoring them all to focus on his own inner thoughts about the agreement. Mamoru suspected it was the latter.

"Tadao," Mamoru said, drawing the room's attention. "You can't expect me to believe Danzo actually came alone."

"He didn't," Tadao confirmed.

Osamu's eyes bulged. "Why didn't you tell us?" he spluttered.

Tadao glanced at him. "Because I only sensed two others, right outside the door. Either Danzo overestimates himself, or he underestimates us."

"That's insulting," Mamoru said.

"You mean worrying," Osamu said. "Do you think he brought two of the sanin with him?"

"No," Mamoru sat against the wall. "I feel pretty insulted."

"He didn't," Tadao said, eyes on the lantern.

"Once Danzo has what he wants," Shuji began again. "He'll have Lord Hanzo killed as soon as possible. A man willing to have his own Hokage executed can't be trusted not to do the same to someone else who might threaten his power."

Osamu frowned. "He won't," he said firmly. "He'll have to go through me."

"Lord Hanzo won't let that happen of course," Shuji continued. "Once we've used Root and the war is over, Lord Hanzo will ally with the Third Hokage and expose Danzo's plan. The scroll sent to Lord Hanzo is evidence enough. The Third is a more reliable ally."

"All that backstabbing," Tadao murmured, shaking his head. He was the shortest, but his sensing abilities were better than the four of them—including Hanzo—combined.

"Danzo wrote of how soft and weak-willed the Third Hokage is," Shuji continued. "Lord Hanzo only has to use that to his advantage."

"With the Third as our ally, we can push him into calling for a Five Kage Summit," Osamu realized.

Hanzo's eyes snapped open. "Mamoru, Shuji. Once the tools from Root arrive, it will be your job to monitor them. They'll be split into three-man teams and assigned to a capable jonin, but, regardless, I want you to tail and report on those who you especially suspect to have ulterior motives."

His eyes flicked to Osamu. "Osamu, you're back on active duty, effective immediately. Report to the southeast border and inform Commander Abe that you'll be joining her team."

Osamu visibly bit back a protest. He looked unhappy, but bowed, hands stiff at his sides. "Understood, Lord Hanzo." He disappeared without another word.

"Tadao, you'll accompany me. If anything appears off—"

"I'll let you know," Tadao interrupted him.

Mamoru wondered if the temperature dropping by several degrees was just his imagination.

Hanzo turned. Tadao laced his hands behind his head. "We're alone," he added. "You have to appear a certain way to people, I get it. But it's just Mamo and Shu. No one else is here."

Hanzo looked at him for another moment. "Insubordinate," he said, finally turning away.

Despite his carefree attitude, Mamoru didn't miss the slight way Tadao's shoulders relaxed.

"Until Root arrives, aid in the search effort for the injured," Hanzo glanced between him and Shuji.

Deciding not to push his luck, Mamoru inclined his head. "Right away, Lord Hanzo." A second later he was gone.

**長い**

A week after Root arrived—in small, discreet teams dressed in gray and wearing Ame headbands—Mamoru caught a spy.

Shuji had chosen to observe them while they settled into one of the last towers in the village. It was damaged, like every building was, but the foundation was strong. All agents from Root would live within it until the war was over—if the building didn't come down first.

Mamoru stood against a wall near the entrance, a hand held up in the rat seal. The spy, wearing a black raincoat with the hood up, pulled open a metal cabinet and carefully searched through the contents. Mamoru could count the number of people who knew of the room's existence on one hand. It was hidden underground beneath Hanzo's tower, waterproof, and notoriously difficult to get into. It was the perfect place to store confidential information, secrets, and blackmail.

With his other hand Mamoru quietly pulled out a kunai. The secret door leading down here had to be opened in a specific pattern, or it would explode. On top of that, Tadao had rigged the staircase with traps and alarms. All of them had been disabled the night before.

He dropped the genjutsu. The room shifted two paces to the left. The spy, who thought they were standing in front of a cabinet, abruptly found themselves in front of a wall, hand pushing around air. The spy jerked back, but not fast enough.

Mamoru flashed through the snake and rat seal. _Demonic Illusion: Death Mirage Jutsu._

The spy spun, a dagger held in each hand, but they were already within his genjutsu. It was small, easy to break for anyone above genin-level, but by the time they did Mamoru was already behind them, a kunai held to their throat.

The spy stiffened.

"You're not supposed to be here," Mamoru said casually.

He caught the spy's wrist before the dagger could meet his ribs and twisted their arm behind their back. The spy hissed as he yanked her arm further up, the weapon clattering to the floor.

"Move again and you die," Mamoru warned. "Now, tell me what you were looking for." He thought he knew, but he wanted confirmation. Especially if the Root spy _wasn't_ looking for the scroll.

He knew what Hanzo would do if he brought the spy to him. There would be no interrogation. Hanzo would summon Ibuse and that would be that.

The spy's free hand twitched upwards. As a reward, Mamoru stabbed his kunai deep into her side. She gasped and only his grip on her arm kept her upright.

"Let's try something easy," Mamoru said. "What's your name?"

"Moyasu," she grunted. She released a breath. "It means burn."

Her fingers closed around his and he tightened his grip on the kunai, thinking she would try to pull it out. Instead Moyasu yanked his hand to the side and tore open her own stomach.

Mamoru jerked his hand back with a curse—but it was too late. Moyasu collapsed on top of a bloody pile of her own organs and didn't move again. Mamoru knelt and checked her pulse, but the lack of one only confirmed what he already knew.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

He lifted her hood. She was younger than he thought. Fifteen or sixteen, at most. Her brown eyes were wide and dull. Blood dribbled from a corner of her mouth.

Were all the agents from Root this young? Were all of them trained to take their own lives at the first sign of trouble? Mamoru shook his head. It was a waste. Not because of the information she took with her, or her inability to contribute to the village, but because Mamoru hated watching kids die.

He flipped her body over and lifted it—sans her organs—and left the room. Before he reported the incident to Hanzo, Mamoru left Moyasu in a shallow grave between a pile of rubble and a cluster of broken trees. He could've left her with Hanzo for Ibuse. He could've dumped her in a pond overflowing with the dead. Hell, he could've destroyed the body himself and been done with it. Though, Mamoru couldn't do any of that with her staring at him.

Guilt didn't capture how he felt. Mamoru had killed far too many people—kids included—to feel guilty. Perhaps what he felt was closer to regret. Regret that Moyasu had been driven to kill herself, even if he would've sentenced her to a worse fate once he was done questioning her. Regret that she had been there at all.

Regret that she, along with all the other agents like her, were nothing more than fodder to beef up Ame's ranks. Regret that one of them would've killed the other, all the same.

The rain had washed away the blood, but made her grave more of a muddy, half-submerged prison. Mamoru did her the courtesy of closing her eyes before he walked away. Still, he felt her eyes on his back, asking him whose idea of peace was the right one.

Was Danzo right to kill his Hokage to bring about his own version of peace?

Was Mamoru right to kill for Hanzo in the name of peace?

He stopped, but didn't look back. Mamoru knew that in a week's time, he would be the only one who still thought about the girl named Moyasu and the fire that burned bright in her eyes in the moment before she killed herself.

**方法**

Mamoru knelt. "I discovered a spy beneath the tower," he announced.

Shuji was already in the room, standing beside Hanzo. "She took her own life once she knew she was caught, but I witnessed her searching through classified information. I suspect she was looking for the message the Konoha elder sent," he continued.

Mamoru waited, but Hanzo didn't speak. He looked up and Hanzo's gaze was cold enough to send chills down his spine. Hanzo turned to Shuji, and Mamoru felt a brief flash of confusion. Wasn't this what they expected to happen?

"Are you certain?" Hanzo asked. It sounded like it wasn't the first time he asked.

Shuji nodded. "I am, Lord Hanzo," he answered. "Tadao was able to confirm that the messages he found in Mamoru's apartment had traces of Danzo's chakra on them."

Mamoru went very, very still. "Messages?" he repeated.

Hanzo's eyes darkened. He was ignored as Shuji unrolled a water-stained scroll. "According to the information gleamed from them, Mamoru has been in correspondence with Danzo for at least five years, though I suspect it to be longer, as many of the messages still haven't been deciphered."

Mamoru shot to his feet. Alarm, confusion, shock—he pushed it aside. "Tadao made a mistake," he said quickly, taking a step forward. "The first time I met Danzo was during the meeting, and we never spoke."

Hanzo looked to Shuji again.

Shuji shook his head. "You don't have to take only my word on this, Lord Hanzo, but Tadao's report was clear. Mamoru Ito is a spy for Konoha. I didn't want to believe it either."

Someone planted messages in his apartment. Someone tipped Tadao off, gave him a reason to search for them. Then Hanzo was made aware of his 'betrayal' when he wasn't around to defend himself. Mamoru's gaze flicked to Hanzo. "We fought together during the Second Great War," he said. "I've been fighting and killing for years in the name of your dream. Why would I betray you?"

Hanzo wouldn't look at him. Shuji tucked the first scroll under his arm, unrolled a second, and Mamoru was left to watch, helpless as his entire history was rewritten.

"The messages point to Mamoru being born in Konoha," Shuji read. "We suspect that he was recruited by Root in his youth and assigned to spy on you and Amegakure around the start of the First Great War. It would have been easy for him to infiltrate among the refugee's fleeing from Fire Country."

"From then on, he acted as a shinobi of Amegakure and rose through the ranks until he gained your trust, Lord Hanzo. The entire time he reported everything he learned to Danzo."

Mamoru kept his focus on Hanzo. "I was born in Ame—" he began but stopped himself. Could he prove it? Did he have anything to dispute Shuji's claims that hadn't been destroyed or lost in the war? Even his apartment was relatively new, as his last one fell early on.

Hanzo turned fully to face Shuji. "You were right to bring your concerns about Mamoru to me, it seems," he finally said. There was a trace of something that was almost bitterness in his voice.

Mamoru turned his stare to Shuji and his eyes widened. It was Shuji who pointed him out as a spy. Shuji, who brought the evidence against him to Danzo before he could be made aware of it. Shuji, who claimed he was speaking on behalf of others. Shuji, who they all trusted.

He realized something he should've before. Moyasu killed herself. Someone capable of dismantling Tadao's traps like it was child's play had chosen to die rather than fight and escape.

Moyasu hadn't been the one to dismantle Tadao's traps.

Shuji rolled the scroll back up. Danzo had never walked into that room alone, had he?

Mamoru inhaled. He was going to die. He had no defense other than his words, and that wasn't enough. He knew how Hanzo dealt with traitors.

Shuji knew all about the plan to double-cross Danzo.

Mamoru's eyes darted back to Hanzo. He needed to plant a seed of doubt about Shuji. One that wouldn't be brushed off as the ramblings of a traitor but would take root and fester and grow until he couldn't ignore it. His next words might be his last.

"Shuji—" he barely got the word out before he stumbled back and hit the wall. In the instant after, Mamoru registered the abrupt emptiness on his right side, the lack of response when he tried to move his arm, the pain that drove him to his knees. The moment after that his right arm hit the ground with a wet slap.

Hanzo stood in front of him, blood dripping off his kusarigama.

Mamoru clutched his shoulder, only to jerk his hand back at the sudden and unbearable wave of pain. Black spots clouded his vision. The room swam. The sound of his own panting echoed in his ears. He glanced up, past Hanzo, to where Shuji was leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed, _watching._

Shuji's expression was blanker than he'd ever seen it.

Hanzo raised his sickle. Mamoru would be beheaded by his oldest friend and then his remains would be tossed to Ibuse like scraps to a dog. It all meant nothing. His life, his dreams, every single person he cut the throat of, _it all meant nothing._

It was worse than being forgotten, because to his friends, he was a traitor. He wouldn't disappear from their memories like Moyasu. They would erase him. Tadao, Osamu—they wouldn't _want_ to remember him. They would question his every action before this point, they would cut him out of their memories and spit on his body.

All the blood and bodies Mamoru had to step over to get this far—finally having a chance for peace in their grasp, being _so close_ to get others to just _listen_ —all of it gone with five simple words.

_Mamoru Ito is a traitor._

All because of Shuji. Because of Danzo.

It filled him with a rage so potent it could've set the room on fire. Mamoru saw it all so, _so_ clearly. Hanzo, the slightest hesitation in his swing, eyes hard to mask the disappointment. Shuji, the almost-invisible upward tilt to his lips.

At least if he died after exposing Shuji, he would've been a catalyst, the first domino to knock over all the other dominoes. But he couldn't even do that.

Mamoru let his body fall backwards while he forced his fingers into the ram seal. _Hiding in Surface Jutsu._

He fell through the floor like it was air. There was a moment of silence as he fell, and then Mamoru hit a table with a deafening crash and went straight through, meeting the ground in a shower of splinters and enough pain to make his vision go red and hazy.

Blood coated the ground around him. Mamoru could taste it on his tongue. His hand shook as he lifted it, fingers numb as he twisted them together again. The ceiling above him splintered and broke apart, raining concrete and plaster down on Mamoru. Hanzo was amid the shower, sickle raised, a murderous look in his eyes.

Mamoru pointed two fingers at Hanzo. _Illusion Technique: Unknown Fire Jutsu._

The only reason Hanzo missed was because suddenly he and the whole room were ablaze in bright blue flames. Instead of taking off Mamoru's head, the blade sliced a deep cut between his eyebrows. Compared to his shoulder though, the pain was negligible.

Mamoru had two, maybe three seconds—if he was lucky—before Hanzo broke the genjutsu. _Hiding in Surface Jutsu._

Mamoru fell through the floor. He did it again and again and again until he was on the bottom floor, where the sound of him vomiting filled the silence. Mamoru wedged his arm under his body and propped himself up.

Hanzo wouldn't destroy each floor to follow him. If he did, the entire building would come down. He would have to take the stairs or leap out the window and run down the side. Even then, Mamoru could've hidden on any of the floors between the bottom and the top.

_Water Clone Jutsu._

A clone of himself emerged from a puddle and disappeared up the stairs. It would hide on the third floor, run if discovered, and, hopefully, keep Hanzo busy for at least a few minutes.

Mamoru stumbled once he was on his feet, but didn't fall. He took off his flak jacket, tore a sleeve off with his teeth, and tossed the rest away. He tied it tightly around his shoulder as he headed out into the rain, dizzy with blood loss.

As he dragged himself away from the tower, Mamoru's rage melted away, replaced by a melancholy sort of exhaustion. He wondered, quietly, why he ever let himself believe in a dream as foolish as peace?

**ダウン**

Mamoru collapsed in a corner of a building that used to be a weapons shop. Jagged pieces of the wall dug into his back and rain dripped on him from a hole in the ceiling, but he didn't have the strength to keep walking.

He was freezing. Was Hanzo coming after him? Would he bother when the blood loss would do the job for him?

Mamoru tilted his head back against the wall. His plan had been to escape, to live to spite Shuji and the hand he'd been dealt, but now what?

He thought of finding Osamu and Tadao, of warning them, but, even _if_ they didn't kill him, apprehend him, or worse, Mamoru would only be condemning them. What evidence would Shuji need against them when they were seen conspiring with a traitor?

Mamoru laughed. It was a quiet, broken sort of laugh, almost at himself. What did he expect to accomplish with one arm and a quarter of his chakra? Find a nonexistent medic-nin in this pile of rubble called a village and come back stronger, armed with the power to make Hanzo listen to him and out Shuji as the real traitor?

Then, while he was at it, he would shove a kunai through Danzo's lone eye and single-handedly bring about peace. Mamoru laughed so hard he couldn't tell if the tears were from his hysteria or because he'd lost everything in a matter of minutes.

His laughter eventually petered out, leaving him with a dull sort of emptiness. Mamoru had the chakra left for one jutsu. After that, well, he could at least make it difficult for his would-be assassins. He slumped against the wall, but managed to raise his hand.

_Demonic Illusion: Double False Surroundings Jutsu._

Mamoru didn't have the chakra or time to change his surroundings, so he simply erased himself from the picture. He held it for six minutes before a little girl with hair as black as night and a scarf the color of blood walked into his genjutsu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 長い - Long, 方法 - Way, ダウン - Down  
> I'll leave what happened to canon!Mamoru to your imagination. Maybe the Ame Orphans found him, maybe they didn't. Either way, canon!Nagato is not a medic-nin.  
> Originally this was supposed to be a quick 1k word thing to explain how Mamoru ended up where he did but then my brain exploded and here we are.


	2. Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended to be read after chapter 15.

"I'm not saying anything,

We'll leave it this way,

And if the silence never fades,

I wouldn't care, you see,

The hush in between,

May hold the meaning we need."

-Charles, JubyPhonic

* * *

Tadao tilted his cup, watching the sake (heavily diluted with water) slosh against the side. He could only see a silhouette of himself in the murky reflection. Every ten seconds, a drop of water hit the counter and dribbled down the side to join a puddle on the floor.

He sat on a stool, alone—other than the dead-eyed bartender, but he didn't really count. Since the last time Tadao stepped foot in the bar, it had gotten worse. On a shelf behind the bartender sat a half-melted candle, covered by a dirty, clear cup. Holes peppered the ceiling, though most had been hastily and badly patched over.

The walls were covered in stains (some Tadao suspected to be spilled sake, others blood), and puddles decorated the floor. The hidden backdoor had been converted into another exit. The war had not been good to this place.

For a reason Tadao couldn't fathom, the bartender refused to give up on the bar. It was only a matter of time before the roof collapsed on top of him.

He felt Osamu coming minutes before he walked into the bar. His friend had to hunch down to avoid causing more damage to the ceiling with his head. Without looking, Tadao lifted his cup. "If it isn't Ame's resident blockhead," he greeted.

Osamu, used to him and his quips, zeroed in on the glass. "You're drinking?" he asked, disapproving.

Tadao lowered his cup. "It's water." It was mostly water. Seventy-five percent, at least. It was as good a time to get drunk as any, but he needed a clear head.

Osamu eyed his drink for another moment before he took the seat beside him. He didn't say anything for a second, shoulders hunched, eyes on the counter. And then, "Mamoru betraying us still feels like a bad dream. I can't believe he did it."

He closed his eyes. They were getting right into it then?

It had been two days since he found those damning messages hidden behind a false wall in Mamoru's apartment, since he sensed traces of his old friend's chakra on the paper and no one else's, telling him that Mamoru had handled them recently.

Two days since Mamoru escaped. And he _only_ escaped because Hanzo, coldest man in Amegakure, hesitated to deal a killing blow. Then, once Hanzo committed to ending his life, he was tricked into going after a water clone instead of the real thing.

Tadao faced forward, peering into his drink. He _did_ ask Osamu to meet him to talk about Mamoru, but maybe he also wanted to have a drink with a good friend and not think about how much shit they were in for three seconds. "You're an idiot," he grunted.

The bartender was someone Tadao trusted, if only because the man knew enough secrets to sink at least three Kage and bring down at least one of the great nations entirely. Before the war, patrons passing through from all over would drop into the bar, seeking a drink or refuge from the rain. Some were plain incompetent and discussed their shinobi business while they were 'alone'. Others only needed a few drinks before they started spilling confidential information to anyone who would listen.

The bartender used to spy for Hanzo, but now he kept those secrets to himself.

Osamu's brows furrowed at him. "Mamoru _is_ a traitor. Lord Hanzo himself witnessed his betrayal."

True enough.

"He wouldn't lie to us about that," he added when Tadao didn't speak.

Three days ago, Tadao might've agreed. But everything was different now. _Hanzo_ was different. Tadao couldn't exactly blame him. If one of the only four people he put his complete faith and trust in turned out to be stabbing him in the back, why wouldn't he suspect the same of the other three?

Mamo was the invisible specter standing between Hanzo and his three remaining friends. Up until two days ago, the five of them acted as a well-oiled machine, arguing sometimes, but never lacking trust in each other. It had been that way since the middle of the last war.

"Hanzo told us what he thinks is true," Tadao drawled. The bartender quietly disappeared into the back. It was only for the peace of mind of his patrons, because Tadao knew the man could still hear every word being said.

"Lord Hanzo," Osamu corrected automatically. "You hate it when people don't say what they mean, but you won't come out and say what _you_ mean."

That was because he was sad and weary and half-wondering why he didn't drink himself into oblivion when he had the chance. "I have to choose my words carefully. You won't understand the big ones," he said, because it was the easier answer.

Osamu huffed, turning to stare at the counter. "I thought it would always be the five of us," he admitted. "Fighting together like we used to, getting stronger, working towards peace."

Tadao looked at him again. "The cipher was still deciphering half the scrolls when Shu outed Mamo," he said. "A few are _still_ being worked out because of how complicated the code is. It could take weeks."

Osamu frowned.

"Shu knew I was still working with the cipher when he told Hanzo about Mamo. I told him to wait. He didn't."

"He was right not to," Osamu said. "What you _did_ tell him was extremely urgent. At any time, Mamoru could've tried to kill Lord Hanzo, and if he took him by surprise, he might've succeeded. Getting that information to Lord Hanzo as soon as more possible was more important than waiting."

Tadao sighed, but there was no Shuji or Mamoru to explain things in his place. "What if," he began, staring at the candle on the shelf. "One of the scrolls still being decoded points to Mamo being innocent?"

"They wouldn't," Osamu said firmly.

"Let's say Mamo _is_ a traitor," Tadao said. "There was no way in hell that his goal was to kill Hanzo. He would die trying, element of surprise or not."

"We don't know what he was really capable of," Osamu said. "Everything he told us was a lie."

"His goal wasn't to steal information," Tadao continued as if Osamu hadn't spoken. "Mamo had access to the underground room for _years_ , but never smuggled anything out of it. He didn't lie about finding a spy down there, and it was the perfect opportunity to take something. We would've blamed Root, not him."

Osamu looked troubled.

"Whatever his goal was, it wasn't something that could be done in a day," Tadao said, eyes cutting to his friend. "Mamo had already been acting as a spy for a _long_ time. Taking a few days or weeks wouldn't have made a difference."

Osamu shook his head. "I would've done the same thing as Shu if I thought Lord Hanzo was in danger," he insisted.

"That's because you're more muscle than brains," Tadao said back. "But Shu isn't you."

"If Mamoru found the scrolls gone, he would've run," Osamu reasoned.

"You don't think I thought of that?" Tadao asked. "The _first_ thing we did was make copies of the scrolls. We planned to put the originals back, but never got the chance."

"Did Shu know that?"

"He didn't ask." Tadao finished his drink. He couldn't even taste the sake. "The scrolls that revealed Mamo's identity were in easier code than the others. They looked older, too," he said. "Why would he write them in a different level of code than everything else?"

"If they were older, they could've been from when he was younger—"

"Why would he _keep_ them?" Tadao scoffed.

"If he didn't think anyone would find them—"

"Then he's not only a bad double-agent, he's an idiot too," Tadao interrupted.

Osamu stared at him and Tadao could almost see the gears turning in his head.

"A man who tricked Hanzo and three other high-level shinobi for years is done in by his own stupidity," he snorted.

"If the information in the scrolls was fake," Osamu said slowly. "Lord Hanzo would've known."

"They weren't fake," Tadao clarified. "They just weren't Mamo's."

Osamu frowned deeply.

"Before the stuff with Mamo happened, Hanzo was a lot like you," Tadao drawled, folding his hands on the counter. "He trusted to a fault. It was damn difficult to earn that trust, sure, but once we had it, it was like we were incapable of betraying him in his eyes. Like it just wasn't possible. It's why we didn't hear about Shu making up stuff about Mamo for months until _after_. Hanzo ignored it, or, tried to."

"We don't know how long Shu was telling him about Mamo, but he _did_ make Hanzo question his loyalty, at least subconsciously. It was why Hanzo reacted the way he did when Shu finally brought him evidence. It confirmed his deepest, darkest fear about someone he dared to care about," Tadao leaned forward. "And who was behind making Hanzo doubt Mamo in the first place?"

Osamu stiffened. "Shuji wouldn't—not on purpose," he denied. "And Lord Hanzo isn't so easily manipulated."

Tadao needed a very long nap. "Why wouldn't Shu?" he asked. "Because you think he's our friend? Because you trust him?"

Osamu went quiet. "If you think he did this on purpose, why do you still talk about him like he's a friend?"

Tadao blinked. "What—the nickname?" he asked. "I have to keep up appearances, don't I? Stay in the habit and all that. If I suddenly stop calling him Shu, he'll get suspicious. He's not an idiot."

Osamu abruptly stood. "I'm going to speak to Lord Hanzo," he said. "Alone. Without Shuji telling me his version of the situation. I'll find out what really happened with Mamoru."

Tadao opened his mouth to tell him it wouldn't work because Hanzo wouldn't agree to be alone with any of them anymore, that Hanzo wouldn't suddenly have new information because his thoughts about Mamo changed—but he didn't speak.

Osamu had a look in his eyes that said he was convinced that this whole thing could be fixed with a little talking and a lot of determination.

Osamu Nijiri was of a rare breed in Ame. The war hadn't shaken him of his belief in people. Tadao could clearly see it. He believed that if he talked to Hanzo, made him _understand_ , Shu could be reasoned with and Mamo could come back. He was so earnest it hurt.

Besides their friendship, his earnestness was why Tadao asked him to meet instead of going to bat against Shu alone. He could've, and it probably would've been a lot less messy than what Osamu was about to do, but he didn't.

Tadao could count the number of people he could depend on on half of one hand. And he was looking at the only person that he knew would have his back, no matter what happened.

So, Tadao kept his mouth shut and watched Osamu leave. The less cynical part of him wanted to think he could do it too.

Once he couldn't sense his friend anymore, he turned away and rubbed his forehead. The bartender, having returned from the backroom, refilled his cup.

The whole thing was giving Tadao a headache. Though, he didn't come to the bar _just_ to talk to Osamu. He dropped his hand and smiled at the bartender. It wasn't a friendly smile.

The bartender's hand slipped and sake spilled on the counter. He was a plain man, unremarkable in nearly every way—except for his eyes, but all he had to do was not look at someone—and practically born for espionage.

"You don't have to be afraid of little old me," Tadao drawled, watching him scramble to wipe it up. "I just want to know something."

The bartender turned away to grab a rag and Tadao saw him slip something sharp and silver beneath his apron. His expression never changed, but his chakra—well, he couldn't lie about that. The bartender was defensive and fully convinced that Tadao was going to kill him.

"Paranoid bastard," Tadao muttered, leaning back. "Tell me the last time the sanin were here and I'll be on my way."

The bartender added water to his cup, though it was mostly sake after the spill. "Leaf shinobi aren't allowed in my bar," he said. It was clear by his voice that the man rarely spoke.

A good answer. Tadao nodded. "Just like the Iwa shinobi I sensed in here last week, right?"

The bartender stared at him with those dull eyes of his, but carefully put down the bottle and moved his hands out of sight.

Tadao's smile became something more genuine. "I'm not Hanzo," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We can play the 'I don't know what you're talking about' game all night, but I'd never forget the chakra of the sanin."

The bartender stalled by pretending to wipe the counter for a few seconds. "Jiraiya and Tsunade haven't been here in two years," he finally said.

Tadao stared at him.

"Orochimaru was here a few days ago," he admitted reluctantly.

"He was wearing Root gear?" Tadao asked.

The bartender looked uncomfortable. "I don't do that anymore."

"Did I accidentally phrase that as a question? My bad."

The bartender looked at Tadao's cup for a long time. "Yes," he forced out.

"And he met with someone, also in Root gear?"

The bartender stared at him, but he didn't say no.

It told him all he needed to know. Tadao grabbed the drink and stood. "That's all," he said, feeling the bartender's eyes on his back as he made for the exit. "Oh, and I'm taking this."

**は**

Tadao didn't have much to do anymore.

Oh sure, there was the cleanup of the dead, the occasional skirmish at the border, and watching criminals be swallowed dead (or fully alive) by a giant salamander, but he used to do two of the three back when he was merely another jonin, back before he made a friend out of Hanzo the Salamander.

Before, Hanzo would have either him or Osamu accompany him during the day. Most thought it was because Osamu's size intimidated anyone within a ten-foot radius of Hanzo, or because it was handy to have a human lie detector like Tadao with him.

They were wrong.

Hanzo could intimidate people plenty on his own, and only an idiot would lie to his face.

The truth was a lot simpler. He and Osamu gave Hanzo someone to talk to—to vent to, mostly, about the lack of missions, the lack of able-bodied, Ame-born shinobi, no feudal lord giving him the time of day—but now, Hanzo only rarely asked them to go with him.

Hanzo never spoke anymore either, and the silence between them was cold and uncomfortable.

His 'inner circle' was just a fancy title now. Tadao wasn't allowed to see mission reports, financial reports, or anything important. Hanzo didn't ask him to check anything for traps or let them make decisions that would affect the village.

Tadao felt less like Hanzo's friend and more like his general, whose only purpose was to listen and take orders.

Shu kept himself busy with what Hanzo did share with them—messages from the villagers asking for food, work, or clothes, all of which they had to ignore anyway. Osamu kept up the futile effort to get Hanzo alone, and Tadao, well.

He ducked under a brown tarp and into a makeshift weapons shop. Makeshift, because the only things separating the rain from the weapons inside were earth pillars supporting a thin ceiling, covered with the tarp.

Tadao didn't specialize in genjutsu like Mamo did, but he could still pull off a transformation. Short blond hair instead of shaggy brown. Eyes the color of mud. A longer nose. He'd used the minimum amount of chakra to disguise himself and used his hood to hide the rest.

Weapons were scattered in a pile on the ground in the middle, scavenged from battles or picked off corpses. The tip of a spear was stained rust-red.

The shop owner stood behind the pile, wringing her hands. She was as tall as he was (as in, very short), and he could see her ribs through her flimsy raincoat, starvation written in the thinness of her face and the hollowness of her eyes. Her chakra painted the same picture. She barely produced any, her coils equally starved and malnourished.

"You like the spear?" she asked. "I'll trade it for food. Anything will do."

Tadao eyed the pile of weapons. He was sure he could find nearly all of them himself by simply walking around the village. "I'm looking for someone," he said. "I heard he sold a shinobi headband here."

He watched her expression dim, shoulders drooping in disappointment. "If you don't want to trade, go away," she sneered.

Tadao nodded. He pulled a five yen coin out of his pocket and held it up between his fingers. "What about now?" he asked. "Remember him?"

Her eyes latched onto it. She licked her cracked lips. "A headband?"

Tadao smiled. "He might've sold arm or leg guards too. You tell me."

The shop owner shuffled around her weapons, inching closer to him, eyes still on the coin. "I don't sell armor," she informed him. "Too heavy, never sells for much."

Tadao pulled out a second coin. "Stop talking around the question," he said. "Tell me what you know or I'll ask someone else."

She squeezed her hands. "Yes, yes, I remember being sold one," she said quickly. "It's a rare thing for non-shinobi to have. Valuable, to the right people."

Tadao ignored this, "You remember what he looked like?"

She swallowed hard. "Young, tanned," she murmured. "Like you."

It sounded nothing like Mamo, but that was the point of a disguise. Tadao tilted his head. "Me?"

Her eyes skittered away from his. "Tried to pretend he was one of us," she said. "A civilian. A peasant. But he was sellin' something a 'civilian' wouldn't have. Just like you have more money than a non-shinobi would ever have."

Tadao looked at the coins in his hand. In total, he had twenty yen with him. It was still too much. He shook his head. He'd blown his cover because _ten yen was too rich._

"That's annoying," he said, more to himself than the shop owner.

She tentatively held out her hand, eyes flicking between him and the money.

Tadao clenched his fist around the coins. "What did you sell him for the headband?"

"I-It was strange," she murmured. "He wanted clothes. He could'a took everything I had, but he just wanted clothes."

Tadao nodded. The most important aspect of being a shinobi in hiding was _not looking like a shinobi._ He dropped the coins in her palm.

She breathed out, staring at the coins like they were made of gold. "Don't come back," she said, glancing up. "I don't want any of your shinobi problems."

Tadao shook his head. "Don't worry. You won't see me again."

He disappeared.

**遅い**

Tadao sensed Mamoru only once.

He crouched at the top of a small tree, watching a jonin commander familiarize a three-man Root squad with the terrain. On Hanzo's orders, he was to provide back-up in case the Root squad decided their commander was better off dead than alive.

Tadao was bored, and if the tree had any branches, he would've curled up on one and used the time to take a nap. The jonin didn't really need him (she was paranoid and distrusting of them; he was sure if one of them sneezed wrong someone would get decapitated). He knew that Hanzo only told him to do it to get him out of the tower.

Even Shuji got the short end of the stick. He was to gather more information on their Root guests, though there was nothing left to learn.

Shuji was also a damn good spy. Tadao _knew_ that Shuji used his own backstory to frame Mamo, but there wasn't a shred of evidence to prove it. Not a single trace of his chakra was on those scrolls. The records listing the active, inactive, deceased shinobi, refugee's, and everything in between, was a mess, at best.

Firstly, only the jonin had detailed entries, accompanied with hand-drawn pictures. Secondly, those records were from before the First Great War. The record keeping effort had been abandoned when the dead started to outnumber the living. It was why they listed the shinobi now by how many were left, with little to no personal details.

The single page Tadao dug up (it practically fell apart in his hands) listing the names of refugees from the first war was pathetic. It was understandable, since his predecessor's priorities had shifted to focus on the war effort instead of sitting around asking for detailed information from everyone who came into the village at the time, but still.

The only way to tell Ame-born shinobi from non Ame-born shinobi was by the color of their headbands. The cloth around Tadao's was blue, while Root had black cloths. It was flimsy, but the best they could do. It didn't help him at all though.

Tadao couldn't prove Shuji was from Ame, but he couldn't disprove it either. Hell, Tadao couldn't even track down where the scrolls _came from._

It left him in something of a stalemate with Shuji. Tadao didn't have any physical evidence against Shuji, nothing to force Hanzo to listen to him. It was annoying.

He was distracted from glorified babysitting by the chakra brushing against the edge of his sensory range. Tadao's eyes flicked to south-west. Mamo could change his appearance, but no amount of genjutsu would be able to hide his chakra. Tadao knew it too well.

That was the price of spending years around a sensor-nin.

Tadao tore his eyes away and refocused on the Root squad. If he looked for too long, they would know he sensed something. He couldn't leave with four pairs of eyes on him either. Someone would report it to Hanzo, and that was a one-way trip to becoming intimately acquainted with Ibuse's stomach acid.

Tadao closed his eyes and sighed. It was enough to know he was still alive.

**降下**

He needed to move Danzo's scroll.

Once a week, Tadao found a Root spy dead or wishing they were on the stairs leading down to the underground room, tangled in wire strings, filled with kunai after stepping on a trip wire, or missing a limb from a clamp disguised as the wall, floor, or both.

Each time, the explosive trap on the door was disabled, and more and more often, his more intricate traps were too. Since Mamo was gone, he'd filled that hallway with as many traps as he could fit, making them deadlier to discourage copy-cats. It didn't work. And, slowly, the Root spies were making it further and further down the stairs.

The worst part was that the more traps Shuji disabled, the more he learned how they worked. How _Tadao_ worked. Shuji was only using Root, throwing them at the traps until he fully learned how to deactivate them so he could get to the underground room himself.

Tadao _knew_ this, but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He couldn't watch Shuji for cracks in the mask he wore because they were rarely in the same room together. Hanzo didn't call for him at all anymore. Osamu seemed to finally catch on to Hanzo's increasing impatience with them, how he never allowed them to be behind him during the rare occasions they _did_ meet, because he'd stopped trying to get him alone.

More than once, Tadao thought of killing Shuji himself. And then, to avoid an immediate and painful death at Hanzo's hand, he would have to become a missing-nin.

Ame wasn't great, but it was home. _His_ home. He didn't want to run from it. Say he did kill Shuji and run. The rat would still win. Shuji's death would make Hanzo even more distrusting of the people around him, more paranoid of their true intentions, and maybe even convinced that Shuji was the only one who was ever truly loyal to him. No, there had to be another way.

The idea that they used to be close friends felt like a fever dream.

First, Tadao needed the old bastard from Konoha's scroll. There was nothing else down there Shuji could be after. Like Mamo, if Shuji wanted to steal something confidential, he had plenty of chances. Tadao had a blank scroll hidden under his shirt, made to look exactly like the original. Shuji wouldn't know the difference until he opened it.

He would have to stash it in a swamp somewhere and use more energy than he was willing to convince Osamu to keep it a secret from Hanzo.

Frankly, he didn't trust Hanzo to trust _him._ He was sure that if Hanzo was told about the fake scroll, the real one would be dug up and stashed away within an hour. That would make it easier for Shuji. The less people that knew the real scroll's location, the less protection it would have.

Hanzo's chakra appeared behind him.

Tadao's head jerked up. It was the only move he could make before a sickle was rammed through his chest. His body exploded into white-hot agony. He choked when he looked down and saw the tip poking through his front.

Hanzo had used Teleportation Jutsu. It was the only way he'd ever be able to sneak up on him.

Tadao stumbled forward when Hanzo jerked the sickle back, sending another wave of fresh hell through him as it was yanked out. Breathing burned. A lung, Hanzo had to have pierced one of his lungs. His shirt felt slick with blood.

The fake scroll fell out from under his shirt and rolled across the floor.

"How long were you working with the traitor against me?" Hanzo rumbled.

Somewhere between the confusion, the shock, and the denial that this was happening, Tadao noted that Hanzo's chakra was a tightly controlled maelstrom of fury. It almost smothered the deeper note of disappointment, and the quiet, suppressed sorrow.

Tadao made the snake seal. He knew that if he didn't do something to plug the holes in his chest he would bleed out before he could answer. He pulled earth-chakra to his wound, stretching his chakra over the hole like an earthy web and hardening it against his skin. The intense and unforgiving pain that sizzled through his veins made him collapse. He'd done it too fast and his body would make him pay for it later, but he stopped the bleeding.

Hanzo's eyes bored into his, demanding he speak.

Tadao slumped against the wall, coughing blood into his palm. "What did Shuji tell you?" he rasped, defiant. He knew he was only still conscious because of adrenaline.

Hanzo pointed the sickle at him. "Don't blame others for this," he said. " _You_ searched for information on the traitor. _You_ hid your identity, knowing you would face repercussions if you were found conspiring against me."

Tadao's eyes went wide.

Shuji didn't do this. Did the shop owner report him? How much coin did she get for selling him out? He'd fucked up once, and he was paying for it with his life. Tadao stared at a man he once called his friend and saw just how low he'd fallen.

Tadao chuckled, "I wore a disguise because it would've ended the same way."

Hanzo looked down at him. "I've shown you more leniency than I have with anyone. I let your insubordination and blatant disrespect go far too many times. I now see how mistaken I've been," he rumbled. "And still, you come here as a thief to steal a precious scroll right from under my nose."

Tadao's gaze slid to the empty scroll. He could make excuses, tell Hanzo what his plan had been, but it would all be a waste of air. He was a dead man walking.

"Well," he drawled. He jerked a senbon out of a holder in his pocket and threw it, hissing as pain shuddered down his arm and across his chest.

The senbon slid through the tiny crack between the secret door and the floor, slicing through one of two trip wire. The first held two kunai, positioned so that they would scrape against each other or the back of the door if the wire was broken. The second held gunpowder in a thin sack.

Tadao heard the scrape of the kunai, imaging the slight spark, and raised a hand to shield his face as the gunpowder ignited and the door imploded. The blast was enough to knock him off his feet and send him careening into the back wall.

He fainted before he hit the floor.

His ears were ringing when he regained consciousness. The pain in his middle told him that he'd managed to tear some of the chakra-web holding his chest together. He coughed, a wet, racking one that shook his whole body. It felt like he was breathing through a puddle of water. Black smoke covered the area.

At the very least, the blast took out most of the room and some of the floor above them. Tadao couldn't use any ninjutsu to defend himself. Not only might his lungs collapse if he attempted to use an air bullet, but his coils were shot. He wouldn't know how bad the damage was until later, but the way everything hurt when he tried to focus his chakra made him stop trying.

He had to escape. Tadao forced his arms to hold him, to push himself to his knees, and then wobbly to his feet. He pressed a hand against his wound.

Hanzo was behind him, chakra keeping his feet firmly against the ground, having prevented him from becoming a human ragdoll like Tadao. The explosion had moved him approximately three feet to the right.

Panting, Tadao ran through his options.

One - Attempt to take on the most powerful man in Ame, fail, and die.

Two - Get to the bar, staying only long enough for him to stitch his wound closed with wire strings and assess the state of his lungs. Then he would make a break for the border before he brought the bartender down with him.

Three - Find Mamo's hiding spot. He knew the general area of where he was. He was probably the only person that _could_ find him.

Though, before he could do two of the three, Tadao had to focus on the present, and avoiding another sickle through his chest. He shook his head.

What was the chance that Mamo's clone trick would work again? Would making the damage to his coils worse be worth the effort? He forced himself to turn his back to Hanzo and drag himself towards a hole in the wall.

Tadao pulled out a long string of experimental wire and held it between his teeth as he hobbled forward. He tied senbon around each end, slicing his fingers open in his rush.

He could hear Hanzo's footsteps behind him.

As soon as he was done, Tadao threw it at him. Hanzo stepped out of the smoke and made no move to stop the wire as it tangled around his legs. The senbon tied to it dug deep into each ankle. Hanzo stopped for half a second, staring murderously at him, and then he kept walking.

The wire stretched taut and snapped. Half a second later it exploded.

Tadao pushed his body to move faster. Originally, he created those wire strings to add a second layer of security to the secret door. Shuji would've been in for a surprise the next time he tried to deactivate it. It would've created a small, concentrated explosion. Not enough to kill Shuji, but he'd have to disguise the burns.

Hanzo _kept walking._

Tadao dared to look back. Burns circled Hanzo's ankles, but the man simply didn't care. Hanzo had discarded his face mask, filling the air with poison every time he breathed. Tadao instinctively held his breath, though he didn't know what good that would do when he had open wounds.

He didn't have any more wire. His mobility had been crippled. The senbon he had left were useless against a man that shrugged off explosions. Tadao grappled for the frame of the door, hearing the crash of rain that signaled he was almost outside.

Tadao felt Hanzo's chakra coming at him fast, but knew he could neither outrun or dodge him. He sighed and turned around, staring down his would-be murderer.

Was this how Mamo felt, knowing he was about to die?

Tadao breathed in. He didn't want to die, but he wouldn't cower away from it. "Fuck you," he spat. Because if he had to die, Hanzo was going to stare into his eyes as he did it.

He couldn't have had better last words.

Except... he didn't die.

Osamu threw his tanto up in front of him, stopping Hanzo's sickle from taking his head off. Tadao looked to the side.

Osamu was breathing hard, tense, eyes full of confusion. "Lord Hanzo," he began, hesitant. "Why are you attacking Tadao?"

_How many times were you dropped on the head to be such an idiot?_

But all Tadao felt was relief when he'd usually be annoyed.

Hanzo's eyes were bottomless pools as he stared at Osamu. "How long have all of you been against me?" he asked harshly.

Osamu reared back, whether from the poison or the question, Tadao didn't know. "We— _What_?"

Tadao gave Osamu's back a quick pat, a wordless thank you. Then he turned and hobbled away from them, ignoring the rattle in his lungs, the blood dripping down his front.

Hanzo paused. "Prove your loyalty to me," he said. " _Stand down."_

"Lord Hanzo, Tadao is _one of us_ ," Osamu insisted. "He wouldn't—whatever you think he did, he didn't do it!"

Tadao felt Osamu's chakra waver, moving more sluggishly than before, and looked back. Hanzo breathed thick clouds of purple at him, but Osamu still stood his ground.

If he was anyone else, he would already be dead. But he was Osamu. The only one Hanzo would ever believe was making an honest mistake. Tadao kept running. His chest was staring to go numb, but he would only stop when he was dead.

_Thanks for saving my life, blockhead._

.

.

.

The rain was cold. Tadao used that chill to keep himself awake as he dragged his body forward.

_I'm not going out like this._

He couldn't feel his legs.

_A little more._

Far off behind him, he felt two chakra signatures.

Tadao knew they were from Root, because they all felt the same. Cold and unfeeling like they were objects instead of people. Mamo's chakra felt _so close_. He was almost there. Tadao repeated it like a mantra as he dug his fingers into the dirt.

_This'll be worth it when I see that idiot._

Mamo's shock would be the highlight of his week. And he'd finally get to meet the people that saved his friend's life. He felt four smaller signatures with Mamo. The medic-nin would fix the mess he'd made of his chest, and he and Mamo would have a good laugh about how shitty their lives were.

Tadao wasn't going to die. His hand slipped, and he barely caught himself before he lost consciousness.

If he had to be a missing-nin, his first order of business when he was back on his feet would be to kill that bastard Shuji. They all would've been better off if he never showed up in Ame. Then Tadao would go somewhere warm, like Suna.

His head drooped.

Tadao would get out of this damn village and leave it behind.

He fought to keep his eyes open, even as a black haze darkened his vision. He urged his arm to wake up and move, to pull the rest of his body forward another inch.

He couldn't feel his arm.

Tadao swore that he would lay in the desert under the sun and name himself something ironic like _Ameyuri_ , his own private joke.

He lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> は - A, 遅い - Slow, 降下 - Descent  
> Osamu is the goodest boy.  
> I don't know if it was anime-only, but I reject the idea that Hanzo isn't fully immune to his own poison. He breathes it, but still needs an antidote? Come on.  
> The song that helped me write this chapter is a straight bop, by the way.  
> Fun fact: Tadao was originally supposed to live.


	3. The

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended to be read after chapter 16.

"Tied me tight to a cross, I look longing at the sky,

_Penitence for your crime! Penitence and your life!_

If I pray who will hear? I am drowning in their cheers,

_Devotion turned to dusty tombs_

If my love was just a curse than I have only tears to shed

_Penitence for your crime! Penitence and your life!_

-Witch Hunt, JubyPhonic

* * *

It was lonely at the tower.

Osamu walked down a hallway, staring straight ahead, the clack of his sandals his only company. He was surrounded by ghosts. If he looked to the side, his eyes tricked him into thinking he saw a shadow of Tadao next to him. He could almost hear his former friend complaining about him taking up the entire hallway and complaining still about not being able to see if he walked behind him.

Shuji and Mamoru would be ahead of them, or a combination of them, with Osamu always in the back. Mamoru and Shuji used to talk about war, politics, and stuff that went over his head. Mamoru would bounce jokes off Tadao until the latter cracked a smile and called him an idiot. Shuji and Tadao always got into an argument over something small and meaningless, like whether vegetables were better eaten raw or fried.

Lord Hanzo would walk ahead of them, close enough to be part of the conversation if need be, though he was never included or added to them.

It was never this sad kind of quiet when it was the five of them, and Osamu never felt alone. He squeezed the mission report a little too hard, crumpling the paper. He was reduced to a doorman, stopping shinobi from entering the tower and collecting their mission reports, all the while not being allowed to read them himself.

He only saw Shuji long enough to step aside so he could enter the tower, and each encounter made him feel more and more helpless. He wasn't Tadao.

He couldn't go behind Lord Hanzo's back to investigate Shuji. He wouldn't know where to start. Lord Hanzo ignored any questions he asked, and his requests fell on deaf ears. Osamu couldn't keep sitting back and watching his Lord become someone he didn't recognize, watching his friends disappear, watching their dream of peace wilt into nothing.

Osamu stopped in front of the door to Lord Hanzo's office. He needed to talk to Shuji. It was the only thing he could do to try and make this better.

He slid open the door. Lord Hanzo sat on the far side of the room with the wall behind him, scrolls with confidential information spread out on his desk.

Osamu knew that Mamoru and Tadao were still alive. They had to be. He bowed low. "A report from Captain Hotada, Lord Hanzo," he said. He moved closer and put the scroll on the desk. He waited.

The man he thought he knew would've asked for his opinion on the report details, regardless of how useless it would be. Osamu dared to look up and saw Shuji's ghost standing beside Hanzo, willing to explain things in a way he understood. Tadao's ghost sitting on the floor somewhere, papers in his lap, complaining about the workload but doing it all anyway. Mamoru sometimes stood where Shuji did, always more directly involved in making important decisions than Tadao was willing to be or Osamu could be.

Hanzo's eyes narrowed.

The room felt bigger, emptier, and so _cold._

Osamu bowed again, turned, and left the room. Only when he slid the door closed did he clench his fists.

It shouldn't be like this. This was all wrong.

**崖**

The day after, early in the morning, Osamu wedged himself into a narrow hallway made of unpainted, crumbling concrete and knocked on the door of Shuji's apartment.

As it opened, Osamu stared at his friend. His enemy.

How could he secretly be a spy? Back when the foundations for Hanzo's plot for peace were being built, Shuji would point out the flaws in the ideas Tadao or Mamoru voiced. He _helped_ them make it better, make it into something they could do and not what they _wanted_ to.

Why go through all the trouble? How could Shuji fight back-to-back with them on a battlefield and then try to have Mamoru killed?

He knew what Tadao said but... he couldn't wrap his head around it.

"We need to talk," Osamu said.

Shuji looked like he only just woke up. He absently ran a hand through his hair to smooth it down, wearing only a casual shirt and pants. He stepped aside, gestured into the apartment, and Osamu ducked inside.

It was cramped and sparse, with a pillow and blankets in the middle of the room. Most of the apartments left looked like this, having been hastily and shoddily built during the Third World War to lower the homeless population. Shinobi were moved in first.

"It's been a long time, Osa," Shuji said, and the door scraped closed behind him. "I was in the middle of making tea. Want any?"

"What kind?" Osamu asked.

"Konacha," Shuji answered, disappearing into a space separated from the main room by a thin wall. Osamu knew Shuji had a gas stove that worked only half the time.

Osamu couldn't help the twist of his lips. "No."

"Still don't like the cheap stuff, huh?"

Osamu didn't answer. He expected a confrontation, for Shuji to act differently, but instead he was being offered tea and everything felt the same.

Shuji came back with a small cup of lime-green tea. "Did Lord Hanzo send you?" he asked.

"No, he didn't," Osamu said, eyeing his 'friend'. Shuji acting like _Shuji_ was throwing him off.

"He wouldn't," Shuji murmured, sitting back against the wall. He put the tea down in front of him, watching steam curl and float up. "The way Lord Hanzo is now is troubling. I don't know what we can do."

Osamu blinked.

"You know how much worse he's gotten after Tadao," Shuji said. "I've received so many complaints from shinobi frustrated by how little Hanzo is telling them about what led to Iwa declaring war, how close the enemy is to the border, or how long it'll be until they're sent out to fight."

Osamu opened his mouth to agree—then caught himself. He shook his head. "Are you a traitor, Shuji?" he asked gruffly.

Shuji didn't immediately answer. He ran a finger around the rim of his cup. "I can't answer that."

"You can't—?"

Shuji answered him by sticking out his tongue, showing Osamu the seal there. Three solid black lines followed by two broken ones.

Osamu drew back. Despite it all, he wanted to believe in the chance that Tadao was wrong, that this was a misunderstanding, or it was all because of a foreign shinobi trying to sabotage Lord Hanzo. Not someone he would've died for.

Shuji quietly sipped tea.

"Why?" Osamu asked. Shuji, who fought and bled and killed for Ame. His fists clenched. Why go through so much trouble? Why set fire to everything they were trying to accomplish?

Shuji lowered his cup, looking at him with dull gray eyes. "Orders," he said shortly.

Osamu took a step forward. He was angry—for himself, for Mamoru and Tadao. "Why did you keep acting like we were friends?"

All those memories with Shuji, fractured in an instant. It was always the four of them and Shuji. Never the five of them.

"I didn't know how much you knew," Shuji admitted. "I didn't think Tadao would've involved you in this."

It was too late to try and talk Shuji out of this.

It was _always_ too late.

Osamu shook his head. "That's not all of it," he said. "You could've tricked me into believing you were one of us. I _know_ you could've. But you didn't even _try_ to deny being a traitor. Why _?_ "

"Why would I?"

Osamu blinked at him.

Shuji balanced the cup on his leg. "Hanzo trusts you even less after you allowed Tadao to escape. He won't let you near him for long enough to tell him about me, and, if he did, he wouldn't believe you," he said simply. "It's too late to play the hero, Osa."

"Don't call me that," Osamu hissed.

Shuji smiled faintly. He leaned back. "It was a lot of fun," he mused. "Before, I mean. Being trusted, needed, cherished. I'm glad I was assigned to Ame."

Osamu stared at him. He sounded so... detached. "You got what you wanted," he said. "You don't have to keep doing this."

"I know you, Osa," Shuji said mildly. "Which is how I know you genuinely think I might stop if I see how much you believe I can." Shuji shook his head. "If your quest for peace didn't change my mind, you think _this_ will?"

Osamu looked away. "I don't believe that," he began.

_It's not that easy, blockhead._

"I want you to stop because of how many people you hurt. Because of how many you _will_ hurt," he said quietly. "And... I want everything to go back to how it was."

"Still sentimental, even now," Shuji murmured to himself. "I'm going to miss that."

Osamu sagged. "You're leaving?"

"Remember the _thing_ I showed you earlier?" Shuji asked instead. "It doesn't like direct answers."

"Why _did_ you do that?" Osamu asked. His determination wouldn't change Shuji's mind, and neither would anger or threats.

Shuji drank the last of his tea. "You _could_ tell Hanzo, if he lets you," he agreed. "He might believe you, after having you intensively checked for having one yourself. But what would it change? Mamoru and Tadao would still be gone. Hanzo abandoned peace. Like I said, it's too late."

"I can still try," Osamu grumbled.

Shuji smiled, shaking his head. "I think I'll even miss the rain."

It was only after Osamu left that he realized he never once thought of attacking Shuji.

**ダイブ**

Lord Hanzo barred Osamu from entering his office, and no matter how urgent he insisted the information he had for him was, the shinobi stationed outside wouldn't let him in.

Osamu needed to find some other piece of evidence against Shuji. Something Lord Hanzo couldn't brush off, or take as him trying to sabotage Shuji. Something he _couldn't_ ignore.

He couldn't get back the past. He knew that now. But he could still salvage the present. He'd make Lord Hanzo see the truth, and then they would make a new plan for peace.

He had to see Daiki. The bartender had nothing to do with the conflict between the five of them, but Osamu didn't have another choice.

He kept his head low as he ducked into the bar. His eyes flicked to the empty tables, the almost-complete darkness (the only light trickled in from the cracks in the walls and the holes in the roof). Osamu made his way to the middle of the bar, where Daiki stood behind the counter.

Daiki stiffened as he approached, staring at him as he took a seat. After a moment, he wordlessly grabbed a cup, filled it to the brim with water, and put it down in front of Osamu.

Osamu bowed his head in thanks but didn't touch the cup. "I didn't come here for a drink," he said apologetically.

Daiki's dull eyes somehow dulled further. "Seems they never do," he rasped.

Osamu watched the water ripple in his cup. "Is Tadao alive?" he asked, then blinked at himself. It wasn't the question he wanted to ask, but now it lingered in the air between them, festering like mold.

Daiki grabbed a melted plate of wax and a box of matches, searching through it for a dry one.

Osamu frowned. "I don't want to know where he went or—"

"No," Daiki said, eyes on the counter.

Osamu's head jerked up to Daiki's. He didn't understand. "I asked if he was alive."

"Go east until you hit the border," Daiki said, never lifting his gaze. The pile of wet matches on the counter grew. "There you'll find your friend."

Osamu still didn't understand. His brows furrowed. "What did you mean by 'no'—"

The door opened.

Daiki froze.

Osamu, feeling like a slowly growing weight was pressing down on him, looked over. He didn't expect to see Lord Hanzo standing in the doorway, dripping from the rain, dressed like he was about to go to war.

Confusion, then worry. Osamu stood. "Has Konoha reached the border already, Lord Hanzo?"

Daiki sighed deeply, shoulders sagging.

Lord Hanzo looked at him, and he was unrecognizable to Osamu. He watched his Lord make hand-signs. Snake. Ram. Monkey. Boar. Horse. Tiger.

Alarm surged through Osamu like adrenaline.

Lord Hanzo's chest puffed up with the impending fireball and Osamu didn't think. He leapt up and back, shooting through the roof like it was made of paper.

He heard a quiet whisper from Daiki, and it almost sounded like a prayer.

Yellow-orange light ignited the bar, so bright that it blinded Osamu as the fireball turned everything it touched into cinders.

Osamu was still in the air, blinking the stars out of his eyes, when he felt something connect with his face, hard enough that he swore he felt his right eye burst. The punch sent him hurtling straight down and he flipped—landing on his feet on a pile of burned wood, the taste of ash in his mouth.

He couldn't open his right eye. He couldn't even touch the area without pain blurring his vision.

"Why?" Osamu managed, forcing open his left. "I did everything you asked of me. I've _always_ followed orders without question."

"I've decided that having so-called... 'friends' is a hinderance I won't tolerate anymore," Lord Hanzo explained, across from him, kusarigama in hand. "Like an infected limb, your existence weakens me. I'm only doing what I should've a long time ago."

Bewildered, Osamu took a step forward. "We've... All of us always made each other stronger, Lord Hanzo," he insisted. "We were at our best when—"

"Enough!" Lord Hanzo said harshly. He clapped his hands together and sucked in.

The edge of Osamu's vision tinted red. Knowing what was coming, he pressed his own hands into the bird seal.

_Wind Style: Air Bullets._

Lord Hanzo spat a pressurized stream of water at him, and Osamu shot five air bullets. The water stream was disrupted and burst as it collided with the air bullets, spraying them both with a dense curtain of mist and rain.

"I'm not going to fight you, Lord Hanzo," Osamu said firmly, dropping his hands. "I haven't given up on finding peace."

Lord Hanzo's eyes narrowed. Osamu didn't move when he surged forward, nor when he swung his blade. He only grabbed the handle, pushing back against Lord Hanzo, preventing the tip from piercing his stomach. He never looked away from his Lord.

"I'm still your friend, Lord Hanzo," Osamu said.

Lord Hanzo stared at him, eyes flashing, and then he pushed the blade forward. Osamu's hand shook, but he fought a losing battle. He couldn't stop the curved tip from stabbing his stomach.

He felt a symphony of agony as his Lord pushed the blade in deeper and he gave up on holding it back, stumbling back with a groan. Every drop of rain that hit his right eye stung. He held a hand against the wound, but still, he never fought back.

"We—We can still make the village a better place, L-Lord Hanzo," Osamu gasped, blood dribbling down his front.

Lord Hanzo didn't move. Didn't blink. "Despite it all, you still call me that," he rumbled.

Osamu's brow furrowed. "You're still my Lord."

Neither of them moved.

"Get out of my village," Lord Hanzo finally said.

Osamu shook his head, refusing, even as pain shot through his head.

Lord Hanzo turned his back on him. "Come near Ame again and I'll have your head," he said, his voice made of steel.

"I won't—"

"If you don't go, I'll offer a bounty for each limb," Lord Hanzo warned.

Osamu felt despair.

_You're still my friend._

But Shuji was right. No matter how hard he tried, it was too late.

Osamu took a step back. And then another. As he turned to leave, he saw Daiki. Half of his upper body stuck out from beneath a pile of rubble. His left arm was still and unmoving, fingers half-curled. Dried blood was crusted down his face. Half his torso was blackened.

There was nothing to be done for him.

_I'm sorry._

And he was. If he didn't go to Daiki for information, he would still be alive.

Osamu took a third step back, gave Lord Hanzo a final glance, and then he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 崖 - Cliff, ダイブ - Dive
> 
> Fun Fact: Osamu was originally supposed to die.  
> Other Fun Fact: I've learned that canon!Osamu's name is Daibutsu. Who knew?


	4. End

"Unfaithful traitor.

Shut up, get out of my way.

My pain is greater,

But you can't keep me at bay.

Don't you remember?

We were the most glorious gang."

-CG5, Evil Team 

* * *

He was born Ken Shimura.

His father was a Yamanaka, his mother the Shimura. Neither parent wanted him.

His first memory was of Root. A small room with a gray floor and gray walls. A hard bed and a scratchy pillow. Isolation. Loneliness. His great-uncle's soft, kind smile.

Later, in a small, rainy village wedged between the Land of Fire and the Land of Earth, they called him Shuji.

**闇**

Shuji eyed the empty space behind the counter. As soon as he sat down, the bartender excused himself to the back room. Orochimaru had chosen a table in a back corner of the bar, closer to the secret door than the entrance.

The Sanin followed his gaze, chin propped on his hand. "If you think he'll be a problem, I can take care of him for you, _Kura._ "

When Shuji met Orochimaru for the first time he'd been wearing the mask of Kura, a boy orphaned in the war that made a nuisance of himself begging for scraps from shinobi, to the point that they soon stopped questioning his presence near clan compounds (except the Uchiha and Hyuuga), or shinobi-designated apartments.

His excuse to anyone who asked always was that shinobi had more to give than civilians. No one suspected the scrappy boy with gray eyes of listening in on private conversations and dissecting every word said, watching for any inkling of traitorous thoughts or open disapproval of the Hokage.

Orochimaru was the first to see through his act back then, and he found endless entertainment in the name since, though Shuji never understood why.

"Think of it as a favor between _old friends_ ," Orochimaru added.

"He won't be a problem," Shuji said, bland and monotone. It was the real him, once all the masks were stripped away. A tool. A blank slate.

It had been years since he let go of the mask of 'Shuji' long enough to be what others would consider 'himself'. He'd been _so_ careful, only for all that to come undone when Orochimaru sent him a message asking that they meet, on behalf of Lord Danzo. It was a request he couldn't refuse.

Shuji didn't like that the bartender knew the truth about him, but the man was too useful to let die just yet. Shuji would never trust him, but he was confident in the man's cowardice, his stubborn refusal to involve himself in shinobi business anymore.

Orochimaru's eyes glinted with amusement. A clinical sort of amusement, like Shuji was an interesting experiment he was watching run around in a lab.

"You wanted to see me?" Shuji asked.

Orochimaru leaned back. "I don't have much time, I'm afraid. I'm only passing through on the way to my own assignment. So I'll make this quick," he said. "Danzo has given you a new assignment."

Shuji knew that Orochimaru only referred to Lord Danzo informally to try and get a reaction from him, but he remained passive.

Orochimaru smiled. "I'm sure Danzo expected underhanded tactics when he allied himself with Hanzo, but your message about the Salamander picking the Third as the better, _stronger_ option seems to have hit a particular nerve. Danzo's lost all interest in working with him, but he's too much of a threat to be left unchecked. You know what that means, don't you, _Kura_?"

Shuji did. An assassination would be too obvious, especially with all the members of Root in the village. A lack of specific instructions meant that, since he knew the target best, it was up to him to decide how to take Hanzo off the board, or, at least, make it so he would never be a threat to Konoha.

"Understood," he said, and his mind whirled.

Hanzo desperately wanted peace. He didn't tolerate even small threats. He was merciless to his enemies. He cherished his friends.

"You have a week to do it."

Shuji's eyes flashed up to Orochimaru, surprised, and the sanin looked delighted.

"Or, at least, to show you've made progress," Orochimaru clarified, mock apologetic. "Danzo doesn't want Hanzo getting in the way anymore than he already has."

A week.

He had a week to execute his rough idea of a plan, to exploit the only known weakness he knew Hanzo the Salamander had. His inner circle.

Shuji had been slowly, methodically, poisoning Hanzo against his friends since the day they met. It was a weakness of his own making.

He needed scrolls, but ones that couldn't be tracked. They needed to be smuggled in from outside Ame, and it would have to be done discreetly, in between being 'Shuji' and shadow-commanding Root. He couldn't allow any of it to be traced back to him.

"Once you've taken care of Hanzo, there'll be no need to report on him anymore," Orochimaru said, suddenly serious. The sanin held his gaze.

"I understand," Shuji said. A faint feeling of _something_ stirred in his chest, but it didn't make it past the wall of apathy.

"That's all the time I have," Orochimaru said, standing. His coy smile was back in place. "Until next time, _Kura._ "

Shuji watched him go.

He'd start with Mamoru.

**以前は**

His first mask was given to him by Lord Danzo.

_You will be Ken Yamanaka._

And so he was.

It had been the first test post-graduation, a measure of skill by throwing him into the deep end of a lake and telling him to swim. He was to seamlessly infiltrate the Yamanaka clan. He could pass as one of them if he dyed his hair.

He utterly failed.

His second mask was Kura and went remarkably better.

His third, Goro Wada of Kusa, who 'died' on the frontlines.

And finally, his favorite mask. Shuji of Ame. He slipped in among a pack of exhausted refugees in his mid-teens. They were from a small settlement in the Land of Earth that had turned into a battlefield and burned to the ground.

His mother and father, he'd say, died in the fires.

He wanted to be a shinobi to protect what was left of his people, he'd claim.

The refugees had long ago lost count on who was alive and who was dead, so what was one more orphan?

He first drew Hanzo's attention in the only place he could've. In battle, wearing the headband of Ame, Konoha shinobi dead at his feet.

Hanzo already had his friends at his side back then. Mamoru. Tadao. Osamu.

Shuji's place in Hanzo's inner circle was earned by how much blood he spilled, by how fast he was promoted, standing atop a hill of foreign corpses. It was Tadao who spoke to him first, assessing him without outright saying so, asking casual questions that were secretly probing.

But by then, his mask had been in place for so long that it was cemented to him. After that, he met the others, and he began his reports to Lord Danzo.

Shuji used his own past as a base as he prepared the scrolls. He changed details, embellished facts or lied outright, and made the whole thing look like a set of coded orders.

In another scroll, he wrote down as much detail as he could remember from one of the few 'reply' messages he received directly from Lord Danzo.

It took three days and a good chunk of his savings to have the scrolls smuggled in from an ally in the Land of Wind.

He only had time to work on them for a few hours before dawn each day.

It was an impossible task to accomplish in a week.

He did it anyway. It was sloppy and rushed, but it would do.

**は**

Shuji never wanted to take Lord Danzo's scroll back.

The Root fodder he sent down into the cellar to die were distractions, a way to keep Tadao busy while he put on a transformation and met with the non-fodder agents. Though the fodder did have their uses. He'd need to know how to disable those traps later and they brought him closer to figuring them out, death by death.

There were six 'squad leaders' of Root who took orders directly from him, passed the information down to the others, and were the likeliest to return alive if sent to the frontlines. Shuji met them one by one and ordered them to maintain their pretend to loyalty to Ame after he was gone. Unless they received orders from Lord Danzo himself, they were never to take off their masks.

In exchange, they told him that eight orphans had been captured and packaged off to Konoha for reconditioning. The agents that 'escorted' them would act as defectors, cowards running from the war. The rest of Root was ordered to treat them like traitors.

When Shuji went back to the tower, a blast had destroyed most of the bottom floor. He stepped around Osamu's unconscious body (face down in the rain), looking at all the red-tinted puddles on the floor. A tarp had been hastily thrown over the missing cellar door.

The building was only still standing because of four battle-worn support beams. A handful of able-bodied shinobi hovered around outside, clueless to what happened but still on alert.

Later, a squad leader, an Aburame, would inform him that Inu and Usagi failed their mission. She would also tell him that her bugs tasted traces of Mamoru's chakra around the area, and the chakra of four unknowns.

She couldn't tell him how the unknowns were connected to Mamoru, but only that they were involved.

A week later a 'defector' handed Danzo Shuji's newest report, alerting him of the potential new threats.

**太陽**

After Osamu left his apartment, Aki came to him.

She was small and young, but the most skilled in hiding her presence. Shuji found her in his living room, kneeling, water dripping from her black cloak, head bowed out of respect.

"Report."

"Hanzo left the tower," she said quietly. "He was heavily armored, despite there being no sighting of either Iwa or Konoha at the borders."

Shuji still tasted the bitter tea on his tongue. He listened to the soft _pat-pat_ of the rain hitting the walls outside and pooling on the roof.

_I think I'll even miss the rain._

There was _something_ again. A faint flutter in his chest. The distant screams of Ken Shimura, locked in a cage called Root.

Aki waited, another tool, inanimate until given orders.

"Continue watching Hanzo," Shuji ordered. "Maintain your distance. Report any change in movement to the squad leaders."

"Understood," she said, and disappeared.

.

.

.

It was a short walk to the tower.

It was cold and empty when he entered (from the second floor, since the first was still unstable), and made his way down to the cellar. There wasn't another place in Ame that was waterproof, soundproof, and (used to be) impossible to enter that wasn't destroyed or caved in.

The only reason Hanzo still kept sensitive documents in there was because the only other option was to burn them all.

The door had been replaced, but whoever did it was no _Tadao._

Shuji walked carefully down each step, avoiding the bodies of fodder tangled in leftover traps, kicking them to trigger others, and finally, made it down to the bottom.

An inch of water flooded the place. Cabinets were thrown down, mission reports floated in soggy clumps, and scrolls bobbed listlessly.

He stopped, taking in the devastation.

The last time he'd been in this room was right after Mamoru found Moyasu. Without taking a step further, Shuji knew he wouldn't find Lord Danzo's scroll here.

The message inside the scroll was entirely real, and completely damming. Any other shinobi would've used it for blackmail or become arrogant with having that kind of power over an advisor to the Hokage, and Shuji was sure that was what Lord Danzo planned for.

Shuji left the cellar. As he made his way up to Hanzo's office, he thought that Lord Danzo had only given away the scroll with the expectation that demands would be made of him that he already planned to meet, or Hanzo would be dead before he had to fulfill them.

He'd never given it much thought before.

"Lord Hanzo has requested that he not be disturbed," the shinobi stationed at the door told him sternly, holding a hand up to keep him back.

Shuji could've said he had urgent news from the frontlines, could've smiled and tried to convince him diplomatically (all the while knowing the office was empty). He _could've_ , but he didn't need the mask of 'Shuji' anymore.

His eyes were blank. His hand moved, as quick as a snake.

Blood splattered the wall. Red coated the edge of Shuji's kunai.

The shinobi's eyes bulged, hands flying up to his neck, desperately trying to stem the blood that gushed out of him. He tried to shout for help, but it was a deep cut.

And the man that was neither Shuji nor Ken watched him for a moment before sliding the door open and stepping over his writhing body. He closed it behind him.

The only other place Hanzo would keep the scroll was on his person, but he was too paranoid to risk it being lost to the rain or destroyed by Osamu. Shuji strode to Hanzo's desk and pulled open each drawer until he found it—under a false bottom in the third drawer.

He inspected it, then once he confirmed it was the very same one, checked for copies, though he knew there wouldn't be any.

That had been Tadao's job.

Shuji opened the scroll, spread it out on the desk, and bit his thumb until he drew blood.

_There'll be no need to report on him anymore._

His mission was complete. Hanzo was a threat to no one but his own people. Lord Danzo discarding the alliance meant that this scroll was of no use anymore. It had to be destroyed. Utterly and completely.

Shuji's thumb hovered over the scroll. _Something_ made him hesitate.

_It was a lot of fun._

His blood would trigger a seal etched into the paper, only able to be detected by someone as skilled in fuinjutsu as Kushina Uzumaki. She'd created it, after all.

It was triggered by the blood of the user and meant to be a quick way of getting rid of mission-sensitive scrolls if a shinobi was taken hostage by the enemy.

She showed it to the Yellow Flash, and then it fell into the hands of the Toad Sage, the Third Hokage and finally, Lord Danzo. It was heavily modified from the original, but the base matrix was still there.

Shuji stared down at the scroll and realized who he was. Or rather, who he _wasn't._

For a brief, glorious moment of self-preservation, he'd unconsciously clung to his masks. All the faces he wore, all the emotions he felt, all, in some capacity, feared the unknown. Feared death. And maybe he did too, a little.

But he was and always had been an empty vessel, and he had orders.

He smeared his blood against the paper.

Black lines leapt to life, forming circles and arrows and symbols that covered the scroll and tumbled off it, leaking down onto the desk.

And then it burst, exploding with enough force that Shuji hardly felt it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 闇 - Darkness, 以前は - Before, は - The, 太陽 - Sun


	5. Godless - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended to be read after chapter 24.

"Isn't it lovely, all alone?

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone,

Tear me to pieces, skin and bone,

Hello, welcome home."

-Lovely, Billie Eilish

* * *

Hidan dragged a thin stick behind him, making a wobbly trail in the dirt as he walked.

The grown-ups were always trying to stop him, telling him that though the war was over, it was still too dangerous to wander outside the village alone.

He stuck his tongue out. Feh. What did they know, anyway?

He left every day and nothing bad happened.

He stopped when he heard the gurgle of a geyser on his left. Steam and water bubbled out of a rocky cone sticking out of the ground. He stepped closer, waiting and watching until it burst with an explosion of water, spraying pillars high into the sky.

He thought they might touch the clouds.

He stared at it in awe, not even minding when he was doused with warm water.

Steam poured out of the geyser, clinging to his skin like a coat. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He had to breathe through his mouth.

Still, he stood there until the spray sputtered and stopped, leaving only the muggy heat and the water that soaked through his sandals.

Only then did he turn away, humming as he resumed his stroll. He looked past the sunken patches of earth filled with steaming water, the leafless trees that persisted in the heat, searching for another geyser.

The small ones erupted several times a day. He ignored the big ones entirely as they only erupted once every few years or _longer._

.

.

.

Hidan found four more geysers before he walked into a cloud of gas.

It was up his nose before he thought to stop, and he choked hard and stumbled back. His eyes watered so much he couldn't see.

He tasted rotten eggs on his tongue.

He waved a hand in front of face, gasping as he backed away, and his sandal caught on a rock. He fell flat on his ass, but barely noticed as he spit, gulping down fresh air to clear the smell.

What the _hell_ was that?

Holding his nose, he tentatively reached forward, fingers closing and opening around air. He didn't feel anything.

It just _smelled_ like shit.

He tried to wipe the taste off his tongue, but only managed in adding the flavor of dirt.

"Fucking gross," he coughed again, shuddering all over. Grabbing the stick he dropped, he stood, staring at the invisible cloud of death and ass in front of him.

What could make a smell like _that_?

Hidan eyed the air for a few seconds, then leaned forward and took a cautious whiff. A second round assaulted his senses and he cursed, flailing.

If he found the source, what the hell would _that_ smell like?

He squinted up at the sun. It was in the middle of the sky, blinding him with its brilliance. He blinked the white spots out of his vision as he sized up the cloud again.

As long as he was back before sunset, no one would come looking for him.

Hidan pulled off his shirt, struggling to pull the stick through the sleeves, and wrapped it as much as he could around his nose and mouth. He stepped forward to test his makeshift mask.

It still smelled bad, but it was mostly just his own sweaty shirt.

Nodding to himself, he set out to find the source.

.

.

.

It didn't take long for him to find the cave.

The entrance looked like a huge mouth, with sharp jutting rocks for teeth and raised slaps of purple-brown that made up its tongue.

Hidan prodded the "tongue" and walls with his stick, but the they seemed stable.

He stepped up to the opening, leaning in and—

He jerked back, yanking down his shirt to cough and hack and spit. The smell was _worse_ , and his shirt didn't help at all.

He was going to make himself sick at this rate.

He wondered if he could take back whatever pile of shit was causing the smell. His mom would throw a shitfit if he stashed it in the house. He imagined the way people's faces would seize up, all pinched eyes and flaring nostrils, and then he was laughing.

Oh, he had to find the source now.

He pulled his shirt back up, sheltering his mouth and nose in the crook of his elbow. Then, gathering his courage, Hidan ducked inside.

His sandals immediately sunk and stuck in dirty looking sand. After a few feet of awkwardly walking and cursing, he kicked them off.

When he looked back up, he saw a body. It was facedown, both arms missing, a rusty blade sticking up out of its back.

Hidan stopped for a second, blinking at it. He poked it with a stick, but the body didn't move.

They were dead.

He couldn't tell if the smell was from them or whatever was further inside. It made him think of the old man that used to live next door to him. No one noticed he died until days after, when the smell filled the alley and seeped through the thin walls.

There were more bodies in front of him.

Girls and boys, grown-ups, ones that were gray-haired and wrinkly.

They were all dead.

Some of them were still bleeding.

Hidan cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hello?" he called, muffled.

No one answered him.

He looked around at the bodies again, and felt uneasy. He rubbed his arm.

People died all the time.

This is just what happened sometimes.

He made himself walk forward, deeper into the cave, giving the bodies a wide berth.

He saw the red glow before he saw the pool. Steam poured out of it, hot enough that he couldn't stand in it, let alone get close enough to take some.

There were more bodies here, too.

He ignored them though, focusing solely on the pool. Hidan leaned forward as much as he could, stretching to poke it with his stick.

The bottom of it came away red.

It smelled slightly better, and he didn't know if it was because he'd burned his nostrils, or he was getting used to it.

A line of red water dribbled from a crack in the pool and stained the sand beneath another body. A woman. He crouched down next to her, avoiding looking at the blood on her face. He dipped his fingers in the red around, but it felt less like water and a lot more like blood.

He couldn't take _this_ back. Huffing, Hidan backed off.

There was nothing for him here.

Once he was back outside and far away from the gas, he put his shirt back on the right way.

**運命**

Atsushi waved as he walked up to the village gate. A white eyepatch covered his right eye.

The sign at the top of the gate was all curved lines and looping symbols, but he knew it said 'Yugakure'.

"Back from adventuring already, huh?" Atsushi asked, bending down to one knee. "What'd you find this time?"

Takkao, standing on the opposite side of the gate, shook his head. "The Chief said we're supposed to be _discouraging_ him."

"I found this," Hidan poked Atsushi's chest with his stick, ignoring Takkao. "It was in a geyser. One of the big, shitty ones."

"Oh, wow," Atsushi said. He smiled. "Where'd you go to find a red one?"

Hidan blinked. He looked at the red end of his stick. "Oh. I found this _huge_ cave with a bunch of bodies inside—"

Atsushi went very still.

"—and there was this red pool that was way, _way_ inside. It looked like blood, but it was too hot to touch so I don't know. And it smelled like _ass_."

Atsushi's smile looked stiffer, somehow. "Was this cave you found northeast of the village?"

Hidan poked him again. "I don't fucking know."

Atsushi paused. "Could you describe the smell, Hidan?"

" _Ass,_ like I said. Like complete _shit_."

Atsushi exchanged a glance with Takkao, who shrugged.

"If he found the Chinoike Clan, it's no surprise they all died. That place is inhospitable. I'm only shocked there were bones left for him to find."

"I said _bodies,_ not _bones_ ," Hidan huffed at Takkao. He held up his hand, still smeared with blood, and Atsushi's eyes widened. "Don't you fucking listen?"

Atsushi took him by the arms, forcing Hidan to face him. "Was anyone moving? Did they talk to you?"

"Shit for brains," Hidan insulted him. "They can't _talk_ if they're _dead_."

"He could be making all this up," Takkao said, hand on his hip. "I don't believe for a second that those Cloud bastards held out in there all this time."

Atsushi looked down at his bare feet. "No," he said slowly. "I don't think he is."

"Fuck you," Hidan shouted at Takkao.

Atsushi squeezed his arms, drawing his attention. "How old are you again, Hidan?"

Hidan consulted his hands. He held up seven fingers, holding the stick between his legs.

"Right," Atsushi dragged out the word. "You should head on home then."

"Why'd you want to know so much about them, anyway?"

Atsushi stood, a hand on his back, steering him through the gate. "Curiosity," he said lightly. "Takkao and I heard of a clan that lived out there a long time ago, but we didn't believe it."

Hidan shrugged off his hand. He turned around to ask another question, but Atsushi had already left. He was standing close to Takkao, talking too low for him to hear.

.

.

.

Hidan took his sweet time walking home.

He took the long way, swinging his stick around like a sword, making swishing noises to himself.

He didn't notice the eyes on him, growing wide when they saw the crimson on his stick. Nor did he hear the muffled gasps when they saw the red covering the bottom of his feet, or the murmurs as they stared at his hands.

He wouldn't hear the rumors that spread around the village like wildfire, growing wilder and less true with each person that passed it on.

He was a boy who returned during a time of peace covered in blood, then, once news of what happened to the Chinoike clan broke out, he was the boy who desecrated their corpses and played in their blood.

Finally, he was the boy who carried a sword into a cave and murdered them all.

.

.

.

Hidan turned down a narrow sidewalk made of cracked cobblestone, wisps of plants poking through the holes.

The houses that lined the path were all broken shingles and faded paint, small and huddled together. A long, white-brown wall was on his left, stretching all the way down. He couldn't see the end.

An unfamiliar man stood in his doorway. He could see his mom's flowery robe through the gap, her bare legs. The man handed her a handful of folded yen and strode quickly away, angling his face away as he went by.

Hidan stared at the man's back until he couldn't see him anymore.

His mom waited for him, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. She was young, with wavy gray hair and purple eyes that were darker than his. He knew, because he'd seen other kids with their parents, and their mom's looked way older.

Her hand shot out when he was close, pinching his ear, squeezing until he yelped. "You left the village again, didn't you, you little shit?"

He didn't ask about the man who left. It wasn't uncommon for her to be visited by men who gave her money.

"You bitch!" he cried, pushing and pulling at her hand.

She shook him. "How many _times_ do I have to tell you the same shit before you get it through your thick ass head? Don't fucking leave the village."

"Fuck you!" he shouted.

She paused, leaning forward, peering back and forth at the houses around them. "Stop fucking cursing," she hissed. "You'll make me look like a bad mom. I taught you better than that."

Hidan inhaled, "Go suck a—"

A hand covered his mouth and dragged him struggling and kicking back into the house. She kicked the door closed.

Hidan freed his mouth enough to sink his teeth into her fingers.

She jerked away with a gasp, shaking her hand out. "You little _asshole_ ," she said in disbelief.

"You're a shitty mom," he shouted.

"Yeah? Well you're a shitty son," she hissed back at him. She lunged forward, her arm going around his neck, her knuckles against his skull. "Show me some respect, you ass. You'd be fucking dead without me."

Hidan flailed and fought the hold. "You're the ass, _ass_!"

She squeezed him harder, rubbing down until it hurt.

Hidan thrashed, tripped on a rug, and sent them both tumbling to the floor.

His mom gasped when he landed on top of her, but kept her hold on him. "Ready to apologize now, or should I keep going until all your fucking hair falls out?"

"Fuck," he gasped. "you!"

" _Why_ are you such a stubborn piece of shit?" she asked. "And stop cursing!"

Hidan punched and kicked, but he couldn't escape. Exhausted, he went limp.

She waited a second before finally shoving him off her. He flopped to the ground, cheek pressed against the floorboards, unable to do anything but pant.

"You see this?" she pulled the bottom of her robe open, showing him the bruise where his elbow connected with her side. "Little asshole."

She slowly pushed herself up, wincing, and shuffled to the small kitchen. "What the fuck do you want to eat?" she asked, flicking on a dim light.

Hidan almost didn't answer, but then his stomach growled, betraying him. "Spareribs," he eventually grumbled, sitting up.

"Don't fucking sulk or I won't make you anything."

Hidan stuck out his tongue.

**噂**

"Hidan," his mom called, stopping him as he passed by their room. "I need you to go out and buy some shit for me."

He frowned.

"Don't bitch," she said before he could speak. "My knee has been fucking with me all day. Just shut the fuck up and do this for me, okay?"

Hidan eyed her knees. The left one looked fine, but the right was swollen and red. He held up a rubber sloth toy. "I'm busy," he informed her.

He squeezed it and it made a soft little wheeze.

She sighed. "Stop being a difficult little shit and I'll think about making pork ramen tonight," she offered. "God knows you've been up my ass about it all week."

Hidan's eyes lit up.

She pointed at a scrap of paper at the end of the bed. Crumpled ryo sat on top. "Get what's on that list, and you can spend the rest on whatever pointless shit you want."

He dropped the sloth on the floor and stepped into the room to take the paper and the money and stuff both in his pocket. "That's all you had to say."

She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. "Cheeky shit."

Hidan held up his middle finger as he backed out of the room.

.

.

.

The grocery store was a big building near the back of the market made of cracked wood and sagging support beams. Stalls were set up in a half-circle around it, yapping about their cheaper vegetables or exotic weapons.

Hidan stopped in front of the entrance, pulling out the crumpled list. He recognized the character for 'water', the ones for 'pork slices', and 'milk'.

He squinted. The rest he'd figure out later.

Pocketing the list, he went to enter the store when a broom blocked his way.

Hidan looked at it, then up at the fat man holding onto it.

"Go somewhere else," the bastard said, staring above his head. "We don't want your business."

Hidan frowned. "Why the fuck not?"

The man sighed and looked down at him. His eyes were full of distaste. "Look, I don't have to explain myself to you. _Go somewhere else_ ," he ordered. "There are plenty of people around here willing to serve someone like you."

"But I have money," he protested, raising his voice. "You let other people in and you don't even know if they _have_ fucking money."

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

The fat man's eyes went wide.

Atsushi stepped up next to him, smiling, not looking when Hidan shook him off. "What seems to be the problem here?" he asked pleasantly. He was dressed like a shinobi, his brown hair cut shorter than normal.

Hidan pointed. "This fucking _asshole_ —"

"Let me talk to him first, okay?" Atsushi interrupted him. "Could you wait behind me, Hidan?"

"You're a fucking dipshit if you think—"

Atsushi pushed him. Not enough to hurt, but he stumbled back.

Hidan glared at him, but Atsushi had stepped closer to the fat man, talking in low whispers, not looking in his direction. "Fucking asshole," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

After a few seconds the fat man gestured at him, and he heard the word 'monster'.

He didn't know what it meant, but the way it was said sounded like an insult. "Fuck you," he shouted at the fat bastard. "Unflushed piece of shit."

People stopped to stare, but Hidan didn't give a shit.

Atsushi turned. "Hidan—"

"Fuck you too!"

"—why don't you tell me what you need, and I'll go in and get it for you?"

Hidan sniffed, digging around in his pocket for the list. "Why can't I go in and get it my fucking _self_?"

Atsushi came closer, crouching in front of him. "Because he's an asshole," he quietly answered.

Hidan looked at him in surprise. He could count the number of times he heard Atsushi curse on half of one hand.

"But he can't keep me out, because I'm a shinobi," Atsushi went on. "He'll get in trouble if he does."

Hidan handed over the list and the money. "Don't spend it on useless shit."

Atsushi nodded, smoothing the list out on his knee. "Wait here, okay? I won't take long."

"You better fucking not."

**モンスター**

Hidan was twelve years old and a genin of Yugakure.

He sat on the right side of a loose circle. Mina was on her knees next to him, hands folded in her lap, wearing colorful bracelets around each wrist. Junchiro was on his far left, expression serious, head shaved.

Chiharu-sensei crouched across from them, pulling a scroll out of his back pouch.

Hidan had graduated three weeks before.

He never gave a shit about the Academy, but then the Third Shinobi World War began when he was eight and he didn't have much of a choice at all.

He used to be angry about it. Bitter that he had to spend most of his time in _school_ over doing whatever the fuck he wanted.

But then they taught him how to read. Not what he'd been doing before, only knowing what a few words meant because he'd seen them before, but to really _read._

He was behind all the kids that started when they were six, but he felt pride every time he looked at a sign and the words made sense in his head.

Chiharu-sensei raised the scroll. "All we have to do is hand this over to Iwagakure," he explained.

He looked younger than his mom _,_ all soft hands and worried eyes. "Who we give it to ultimately doesn't matter, as long as they can live long enough to deliver it to the Tsuchikage," he continued. "If, at any point during the mission, I give any of the scroll and tell you to run, do it without question."

Junichiro nodded firmly. Mina frowned, her nod slower, hesitant. Hidan didn't bother responding.

It sounded easy enough.

"This scroll has important intel about Konohagakure. No matter what, we can't allow Konohagakure or Sunagakure to get their hands on it. Destroy it if you must," Chiharu-sensei told them, slipping it back into his pack.

"We know that a group from Iwagakure took over an abandoned outpost in Fire Country, southeast of Takigakure. We'll go there first, find a commander, and hand it off. If we can't, we'll pass into Iwagakure itself. As this is primarily a stealth mission, we'll avoid combat at all costs. If we find them at the outpost, it'll take us two to three days to get there. Prepare accordingly."

Junchiro raised his hand. "What do we do if we _have_ to fight?"

Chiharu-sensei paused. "I'll distract them so one of you three can get away with the scroll. Keep heading in the direction we were going and stay together. Our first priority is finishing the mission no matter what."

"I understand, sensei," Junichio said.

Mina raised her hand. "Will we still be sent to help out more when we come back?"

"No," Chiharu answered firmly. "I'll talk to the Chief about it. This is a _one-time_ thing. You guys aren't ready for combat missions. If we're fast, we should be able to make it back in four to five days."

Hidan stood, adjusting his headband. He wouldn't be able to explore, but it was still a chance to see something new that wasn't the same old geysers and hot springs.

Chiharu-sensei glanced at him, then his teammates. "Get everything you think you'll need and meet back here in two hours."

"Yes, sensei!"

.

.

.

His mom hovered behind him as he stuffed a pouch haphazardly full of shuriken and kunai.

"Listen to _everything_ your fucking sensei says, you hear me?" she asked, limping closer. "Don't be a stubborn piece of shit."

Hidan rolled his eyes, flicking the flap on his pack closed. "Yeah, yeah, I fucking _know_."

She grabbed his arm and made him turn around. "You fucking don't," she told him. "It's shitty out here. I'd take a fucked-up leg and this shitstain of a house any day over spending another hour out there."

Hidan scowled. "I don't want to hear your fucking sob story."

His mom lunged forward suddenly, and he stiffened, bracing for a headlock.

Her arms went around him instead. "Little shit," she murmured, squeezing him tight.

Hidan stared at her, uncomfortable, and eventually squirmed out of the hold. "What's fucking wrong with you?"

His mom stood fast, turning her face away, shoving him towards the door. "Hurry up and fucking go. You're pissing me off."

Hidan glanced back, but she had her back to him. Whatever.

**悪魔**

When they crossed the border into Fire Country, Hidan discovered what a forest was.

He thought he knew before, but the trees here shit all over the ones back home. It would take five of the stick-thin trees from Yugakure to make the base of one here.

Chiharu-sensei had them camp during the day and they only went anywhere when the moon was out. He taught them to hide and disappear in the shadows of the larger trees, how to hold their breaths for longer if they hid in a bush.

They tied themselves to the highest branches with the most cover when the sun came up.

Chiharu-sensei never slept with them, always keeping watch.

.

.

.

He watched Mina's eyes widen, saw her suddenly too tight grip on her kunai.

Hidan looked up and his own eyes shot open. A stranger stood behind Chiharu-sensei, on a branch just ahead, holding a kunai to his throat. He wore a black overcoat.

Junichiro sucked in. "Chiharu-sensei," he shouted and leapt, throwing shuriken.

There was a blur of movement in front of Junichiro and a second figure in green deflected the shuriken, appearing in front of him. A fist connected with the Junichiro's cheek before Hidan could shout a warning.

The shinobi caught him.

Hidan's fingers twitched towards his weapons pouch.

"No one else do anything stupid," the man holding Chiharu-sensei hostage said, forcing his sensei to turn, enough for Hidan to see that the kunai had nicked him. A thin line of blood ran down his neck.

What should he do?

The scroll. The mission. But he didn't have it. Chiharu-sensei did.

Chiharu-sensei made a grab for his pouch, and the kunai at his throat was suddenly hilt-deep in his shoulder. Hidan flinched when Chiharu-sensei cried out.

Mina's hands flew up to cover her mouth.

_What the fuck should he do?_

Chiharu-sensei was a captive. Junichiro was tucked under the arm of the second man. If he moved, they both would die.

The mission came first.

His fists clenched. He could still go for the scroll, hope Chiharu-sensei made good on his promise to be the distraction and...

And leave his teammates to die.

The mission came first.

The man holding his sensei captive had a scar on his face, a blue bandanna covering his head. "This isn't a good place for this," the scarred man said, looking at something behind him.

 _Someone_ behind him.

"Let's take them somewhere quieter."

Hidan spun, saw a flash of blond hair, and then something hit the back of his neck.

.

.

.

He came back to consciousness slowly.

His vision was hazy when he made his eyes open, and it was a few seconds before the noise around him filtered in. Chiharu-sensei, sounding ragged. Mina's haggard breathing.

"They're _children_ ," Chiharu-sensei argued.

His weapons pouch was gone. He was laying on his side, hands tied behind his back.

The scarred man stood in front of Chiharu-sensei, hands folded behind him "Children who know too much," he countered coldly. "Do you really think I'll trust your word that they know nothing about this? You're young, but not a fool."

Two other shinobi stood behind the scarred bastard. The man who'd knocked out Junichiro, and the blond woman who'd taken him out.

The scarred man shook his head. "Do you really think Konoha so soft that I won't torture children?"

Chiharu-sensei's left eye was swollen shut, his nose bleeding.

"For all I know," the scarred man began, sweeping a gloved hand at them. "One of the _children_ could know everything, and even if I take the scroll with me, this information could still fall straight into Iwagakure's lap should I let them go."

The scarred man turned his back on Chiharu-sensei. "You've made your allegiance quite clear, Yugakure-nin. I don't bargain with the enemy."

"Even if I knew, I would _never_ tell you," Junichiro spat, glaring at him, fighting to break himself free.

The scarred man looked at him for a moment. It was like he didn't see them as people anymore. "Enough of this," he said to his subordinates. "An interrogation would be a waste of time. Kill them all and burn the bodies. Iwagakure must be kept in the dark about this for as long as possible."

And it occurred to Hidan that he was going to die. This... was nothing like he thought it would be.

"Captain," the blond interjected, still standing at attention. "Is it really necessary to kill the children? If we confirm that they really don't know anything—"

"We let the kids go, and one of two things happen," the scarred man interrupted her. "They go to Iwagakure, alert them that a three-man team from Konoha stole a scroll containing damaging information from them, and Iwagakure responds by doing everything they can to intercept us before we reach Konoha. Or, they go back to Yugakure and the leader there will be alerted to the fact that we now know which side they're on."

The scarred man stared at her. "No matter which outcome, the scroll must be taken back and handed over to the Intelligence Division. If we destroy it, we'll never discover the leak. If we allow it to fall into enemy hands, we've failed our duty as shinobi and all but handed Iwagakure a map of our trade routes. Is that what you want, Namikaze?"

She looked stricken. "N-No, sir!"

"Good," the scarred man said. "You have your orders. They made their choices. All _you_ can do is hope they make better ones in the next life."

Namikaze swallowed hard but said nothing else.

The scarred man put his hands in his coat pockets. "Return to Smoke when you're finished," he instructed, then disappeared in a swirl of leaves.

Hidan watched the man move closer to Chiharu-sensei, kunai in hand, and it felt like he was somewhere else, watching it happen from far above his body.

"If you feel that bad, make it quick for them," the man said, kneeling in front of Chiharu-sensei, touching the point to the edge of his throat.

Chiharu-sensei grimaced. "Tell me how long you were following us," he managed.

The man paused, closing his eyes. "Since you crossed the border," he admitted.

His hand moved before Chiharu-sensei could respond, and all Hidan saw next was the blood pouring down his front, the sound of him gurgling and choking on it.

Hidan's eyes went wide. Mina screamed. Junichiro squeezed his eyes shut.

The man straightened, expression blank, wiping the blood off on his shirt as Chiharu-sensei tipped forward. He hit the grass with a _thud_ and didn't move, dying the ground around him red.

Namikaze was looking away as she stepped forward. "Cho," she started, hesitant. "This—It isn't right. Maybe we should—"

"It's war," Cho cut her off. "But go ahead. Untie them. Be the reason we lose the war."

Namikaze faltered and went quiet.

Cho crouched in front of Junichiro, pressing the kunai under his chin. "Any last words?"

"Don't fucking do it!" Hidan shouted, finding his voice when everything was suddenly shit.

Junichiro turned his head. He looked at Mina, at him, then he lifted his chin at Cho and didn't say a word, even though tears were in his eyes.

"Piece of shit," Hidan screamed, twisting, fighting to sit up.

Cho jerked the kunai across his throat and Junichiro's eyes popped open. He was soaked in his own blood in seconds. He fell and Cho stepped back, wiping the kunai off.

Mina vomited.

"Ass stain!" Hidan raved. "Fucker! Dipshit!"

Namikaze took him by collar, forcing him on his knees, and Hidan stared at her. She looked regretful, her blue eyes two bottomless pools of despair.

Cho bent in front of Mina next.

Namikaze met his eyes, and she looked sorry.

Hidan listened to Mina beg Cho not to kill her and his head spun. She was... sorry?

She had the _audacity_ to look at him like that while his teammates lay dead around her.

She held the point of her kunai to his heart, still looking at him, asking him to forgive her.

Mina's scream was cut off by the sound of her neck being torn open, and there was an awful quiet before he heard the _thud_ of her hitting the ground.

Namikaze pressed forward, piercing his flak-jacket, and he felt a prick before she stopped, her hand shaking so badly she had to use the other to steady it.

Cho took a few steps back, his composure crumpling. He turned around and wretched.

Namikaze closed her eyes. She abruptly leaned forward, taking him by surprise, her mouth against his ear. "When I say so, run," she said in a quick whisper. "I'll keep Cho distracted. Run as far away from here as you can."

Hidan's eyes widened. She wanted him to run.

Something in his chest cracked, and he thought he could hear what was left of his heart breaking on the ground between them.

She watched his teammates die and she wanted him to run.

White noise filled his head.

He opened his mouth wide and clamped down on her neck. He bit down hard, feeling her skin give, tasting warm blood in his mouth.

His hands wiggled free, the skin of his wrists sheared and burned by the rope, and he cut off her gasp with a hand over her mouth.

He thought of Mina, Junichiro, Chiharu-sensei. And then Namikaze, with the nerve to be fucking _sorry._

It felt like it took hours for his teeth to sink past the flesh and muscle, to pierce something that flooded his mouth with blood.

In reality, it took four seconds for Hidan to use his anger and hate to nick a vein.

Namikaze tried to scream, but blood bubbled from her mouth instead. She fell forward, crushing him under her weight.

Hidan stared at the sky as her blood coated him. It was light blue, but he didn't think he would ever feel light again.

There was a sudden pain in his side that he'd missed before, and he could feel metal in his body where it shouldn't have been. It hurt to breathe. She'd stabbed him at least twice.

"Namikaze!" Cho shouted, dropping to his knees, pulling her off him and into his lap.

He tried to stem the blood pouring from her, but she'd been dead before she hit the ground. Her dull, surprised eyes had stared at him as she laid in the grass.

Hidan held his breath like Chiharu-sensei taught him, never looking away from the sky. He didn't blink. The pain in his side didn't matter. All that mattered was the void in his chest.

He gladly let it consume him.

"What the hell just happened?" Cho asked, his hands bloody. He gave Hidan a brief once-over before he refocused on Namikaze, shifting her away from him to lay her flat on the grass. He bent over her. "You're not allowed to die, damnit."

Hidan sat up, pulling the kunai from his side. He felt a little less human as he stood up, a storm of grief and malice and destruction other people called 'Hidan'.

He stepped forward as Cho tried to wake the dead, raised his kunai, and drove it into the back of his neck.

It wasn't deep enough, he realized.

Cho made a strangled noise, swiping at him, but with a body in his lap he couldn't turn fast enough to stop Hidan from shoving down with both hands, unknowingly severing his spinal cord.

Cho slumped like a toy with its batteries yanked out.

Hidan touched his side and it stung, but he couldn't tell if the slick blood on his fingers was from himself or Namikaze.

He was still adrift, most of him somewhere else as his physical body stood alone in a field of the dead. He could still taste pieces of her skin. He spit, but it didn't help.

He was still angry.

Hidan pulled the kunai free and stabbed Cho in the back. He did it again and again and again, hoping Cho took the pain with him into his 'next life'.

.

.

.

The girl looked at him, bloodied, standing among a pile of corpses, and she smiled at him.

It confused him.

Her friends stood back in a tree, shocked at what he'd done or afraid of what he could do, but she didn't hesitate.

She approached him, even as he squeezed his kunai, even as he was a thing wearing a human shell, driven only by his instinct and his rage.

He attacked her, tried to kill her, but she never tried to kill him.

He felt surprise, and it cracked the hole he'd tried to bury his mind in.

She bit him back, and the pain jolted him, making it harder to push out the ache in his side.

When he couldn't ignore it anymore, he came back to awareness suddenly and all at once, a raven-haired girl on top of him, cutting off his airway.

And then, despite it all, she introduced herself and asked him to come with her and her friends like _he_ was a friend.

She was weirdest person he ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 運命 - Fate, 噂 - Rumors, モンスター - Monster, 悪魔 - Demon
> 
> axis!Hidan's story is not a happy one, but really, who expected it to be?


	6. Godless - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended to be read after chapter 29.

"Won't be long,

Won't be long,

I'm almost here.

Watch me cry,

All my tears."

-Face My Fears, Kingdom Hearts III

* * *

Hidan watched them leave.

That asshole Yahiko, held up by Nagato. Konan, the paper flower in her hair droopy and wilted. Oka, who turned back to wave at him. Hidan responded with his middle finger, raising it high in the air. And it made her smile.

She was so _weird._

He faced away from them, wiping the smile off his face. He shoved his hands in his pockets, tracing the symbol on his headband with his thumb.

A small part of him wanted to go with them. He probably _would_ hate the rain and the cold, but it would be easier.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking about the last time he was on this path. He, Chiharu-sensei, Junichiro, and Mina had been heading for the border.

" _Fuck_ ," Hidan muttered. Damn it, he _wasn't_ going to cry.

They'd walked at first, and Chiharu-sensei passed the time by humming a stupid song to himself. Junichiro was serious the whole time and eyed the geysers like something would jump out of them at any second, the asshole.

No one was here to distract him or make him feel better.

" _No._ Don't you fucking dare _,"_ Hidan growled at himself as tears blurred his vision.

Mina would mumble to herself in her sleep, and he always picked the branch farthest from her to tie himself to so he wouldn't be woken by her bullshit.

Water dripped from his chin. Hidan crouched, swiping furiously at his eyes, but he couldn't stop. "Shit," he hiccuped. "Fuck. _Shit_."

He hadn't been alone since they died. Not even in Suisai. Someone else was always around when he started to think about what happened. If it wasn't Yahiko, Oka, or Konan, it was Haruto or Hanako. Haruto never said shit to him, but hearing him move around was enough, or listening to Hanako mutter as she boiled tea leaves.

" _Fuck!"_ Hidan shouted.

He cried until he was exhausted.

.

.

.

Hidan looked up at the village gate.

It was the same as when he left. It shouldn't have been. It should've changed while he was gone somehow, but it didn't. It was the same old shitty gate.

Takkao stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. His left arm was in a sling. His right twitched down to a pouch strapped to his leg. "Hidan?" he asked cautiously.

Hidan tried to hide all evidence of his tears, but he knew his eyes were red, and the front of his shirt was damp. "Where the fuck is Atsushi?"

Takkao frowned. "Your sensei—when he failed to check in at the outpost when he was supposed to, the Chief formed a search team to look for him. Atsushi volunteered to lead it. He hasn't come back yet."

Hidan didn't respond. He was too tired. He walked forward, only for Takkao to step in his way. Hidan stared up at him.

"I can't let you into the village," he said. "Not until I can confirm you're really you."

There was a lot Hidan could've said to that, a hundred curses on the tip of his tongue. "I'm going to piss on your leg," he decided.

Takkao blinked.

"I'm in a shitty mood and I haven't pissed all day," Hidan went on.

"Hidan, this is standard protocol," Takkao said. "All shinobi returning from active missions—"

 _Oh,_ he thought he was joking?

Hidan, ignoring the rest, promptly reached down to unzip his pants. Takkao grabbed his arm before he could make it, grimacing as he jostled his sling.

"How does Atsushi deal with you all the time?" Takkao asked, shaking his head. He let go and stepped aside. "Go on, before I change my mind."

Without another glance at him Hidan strolled inside.

People stared at him as he walked past, gasping and murmuring to each other. He heard the word 'Zabuza' more than once.

He ran his thumb over the symbol on his headband again.

It wasn't like in Suisai, where people bowed or admired him (despite doing jack shit). The whispers were always meaner in Yugakure.

He looked back to tell Oka that they had _always_ been stuck up assholes, but no one was behind him.

His mouth shut and he faced forward.

.

.

.

His house was a fucking mess.

He stood in the doorway, looking from the bunched-up shirts and underwear on the floor, to the old cups and plates piled in the sink crusted with old food. His nose crinkled at the smell of expired meat.

He heard shuffling from further inside and his mom stepped out into the open in only a robe and socks. "I didn't fucking say you could come in—" she cut herself off with a gasp. Her eyes widened. "Hidan?" she asked quietly.

She looked older, with deep stress lines around her nose that hadn't been there when he left. He didn't move. She shuffled closer and got down on her knees in front of him, shaking hands hovering around his face.

Hidan could've left this shitty village and all the assholes in it behind. He could've stayed in Suisai, where they respected him, or joined the Akatsuki.

He only didn't because he couldn't let his mom think he was dead.

She cupped his face like he was a baby, searching his eyes, and Hidan looked away, because he was tired of crying. He heard her sniff, and then he was pulled forward and squished into a tight hug, his head tucked against her neck.

"You scared the shit out of me," she sobbed.

Hidan let out a quiet, shaky breath and hugged her back.

She squeezed him hard. "You shit," she said. "I thought—don't _ever_ do that to me again. You fucking hear me?"

He could've fallen asleep right there with his head against her shoulder.

She pulled back, holding onto him with one hand, the other wiping her cheeks. "Go get fucking changed," she instructed. "I'll—" she glanced back at the fridge. "Fuck, I don't have any pork." She stood and strode towards the kitchen. "You better not be hiding any fucking injuries."

Hidan yawned and padded to their room. He was so fucking exhausted.

The bed was unmade, half the sheets were on the floor, and there was a sock in the corner too big to be his mom's.

Hidan grabbed a pillow, found a clean spot on the floor, and passed out.

**ホーム**

He woke to sizzling and cursing.

It made him feel better.

Hidan wiped drool off his mouth and stood, pulling off his shirt. He stared at himself in his mom's vanity mirror, tracing a finger over the spot where Namikaze stabbed him. There was no scar, no unblemished skin, no evidence that it ever happened.

Still, if he thought about it too hard, he felt the pain.

Yanking on an old white shirt (it was tight on him, not quite covering all his stomach) and shorts, Hidan left the room. His sloth toy sat on the floor where he left it.

He kicked it down the hall.

The sizzling stopped, and he saw why when he stepped out into the living room/kitchen and saw Chief Sugiyama standing in the doorway.

He didn't look as old as Abhuraya did, but he was still _old._ He wore a red hakama with big sleeves, the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkled.

Hidan absently scratched his chest as his mom bowed deeply, holding the door open. "It's an honor, Chief Sugiyama," she said, and her polite tone almost made him snort. "I would've prepared something had I known you were coming in advance."

At least she was wearing pants.

Sugiyama smiled. "There would've been no need. I only came to speak briefly with young Hidan. Word of his return spread quickly, you see."

"Of course. I understand," his mom said, her own smile tight.

Sugiyama glanced at him, but Hidan didn't bow. He turned and went to the kitchen, following the smell of pork and ramen.

His mom snagged his arm, her other hand shoving his head down into a clumsy bow. Instinct made his hand clench around the handle of an imaginary kunai.

"I deeply apologize for his behavior, Chief Sugiyama," she said, pushing his head down further. "Please forgive him. He doesn't understand all you do to help the village and our people."

Hidan swatted her away, ignoring her sharp look, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, what do you want?" he asked the older man.

He met Sugiyama only once before, when he appeared to give a speech to his class after graduation. Hidan remembered none of it.

His mom's eyes promised murder.

Sugiyama stared at him, folding his hands in his sleeves. His smile was plastic. "The youth today are quite... bold, aren't they?" he asked.

His mom bowed again. "I apologize, Chief Sugiyama."

He didn't look at her. Hidan still didn't bow.

"Very well," Sugiyama finally said. He stepped into the house and his mom closed the door. "I assume that, should Chiharu be found, he'll have passed on?"

That was the _last_ thing Hidan wanted to think about. He looked back at the bowl sitting on the back counter, strips of cooked pork left on a cutting board next to it.

"And the scroll?" Sugiyama asked, breezing past his defiant silence.

"Fucking Konoha," Hidan answered. He picked up the still-warm bowl, even though it barely had any pork pieces floating on top and sat on the floor.

Sugiyama looked disappointed, but not surprised. His smile faded. "And how did _you_ survive when the rest of your team could not?"

Hidan slurped up a mouthful of noodles, broth, and meat. Fuck, he missed pork ramen. He swallowed. "I killed the bastards."

Sugiyama paused, eyes sharper, and his mom looked at him in shock. She squeezed her wrist to stop her hand from shaking. Hidan kept his eyes on the bowl.

"In order to fully understand the situation I need a full account of what happened between your team and Konoha," Sugiyama said when he didn't elaborate. "Should Konoha decide to retaliate, the village has to be prepared."

Hidan wrapped noodles around his chopsticks and tilted his head back, dropping the mass in his mouth. He didn't answer.

His mom moved around him. He glanced back, watching her quietly cut the pork slices into small squares.

"Anything you can remember will be extremely helpful," Sugiyama added.

What he remembered?

He heard Mina begging, pleading for her life. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

His chopsticks snapped in half. Hidan stared at them.

His mom knelt next to him, scraping pork squares off the cutting board and into his bowl. "You're always such a little shit when we have guests," she whispered, forcing his fingers to uncurl so she could take the broken chopsticks.

"You may be young, but you swore to protect the village when you became a shinobi. The information you have is critical to our next move, and many deserve to know what happened to their loved ones," Sugiyama said, his voice carefully even.

Hidan frowned. Why wouldn't this old bastard just _piss off_?

Retaliation? Duty? Why should he give a shit about any of that?

This village didn't give a damn about him and he didn't give a damn about it.

There were only a handful of people that ever cared about him and three of them were dead.

His frown deepened. But he wouldn't be able to eat in peace while this old fuck was pestering him.

His mom handed him a fresh pair of chopsticks, poking his head hard before she moved away.

"What the _fuck_ do you think happened?" Hidan finally snapped. Broth stains covered his shirt. "Those green bastards jumped us. Fucking _shit_."

"How long were they following you?" Sugiyama asked patiently.

Hidan chewed on a pork square wrapped up in noodles. "The border, I don't fucking know," he said, mouth full.

Sugiyama looked deeply troubled. "And what happened exactly when they 'jumped' you?"

Hidan glared at his half-empty bowl. "Those fuckers took us somewhere else," he answered. "Tied us up and shit."

Sugiyama frowned. "Where they proceeded to execute your teammates?"

Chiharu-sensei, desperate for them to be spared, even if it meant they would leave him to die.

Hidan filled his mouth with noodles so he didn't have to answer.

Sugiyama seemed to fill in the blanks, anyway. "What happened after?"

Hidan burped at him and his mom looked appalled. She swatted the back of his head.

Sugiyama's expression didn't change.

" _Dick_ ," Hidan spat. "One of the bastards was a soft bitch and you can fuck right off if you think I'll tell you the rest."

"And after that?"

"The fuck do you mean—"

"You were gone for far longer than expected," Sugiyama cut him off, eyes hard. "Chiharu's failure to check in on time meant that you should've returned earlier, not later."

The Akatsuki. Suisai.

Hidan lifted the bowl and chugged the broth until only a small circle at the bottom was left. "I got fucking lost," he eventually answered. "And I'm not fucking stupid. I had to hide and cover my tracks and shit. You think it's _easy_ to do that, asshole? So, what if I killed two bastards? Doesn't mean I could take on a fucking team of them."

"When you entered the village, you were noted to be remarkably clean considering the circumstances," Sugiyama pointed out.

Hidan ate the last pork square in the bowl. He swallowed and gave Sugiyama a dead-eyed stare. "Do you know what a fucking river is?"

Sugiyama stared at him for another moment, then shifted the weight of his gaze away. He inclined his head. "That's all I need for now. Perhaps when we next meet, you'll be more knowledgeable on what I do here," he said. "Considering the complications of your mission, you'll temporarily be taken off active duty."

"Don't—" a hand went over his mouth.

"I'll make sure he learns, Chief Sugiyama. You have my word," his mom promised, bowing a third time. She kept a tight hold on him.

Sugiyama made a sound of affirmation and left.

Hidan ducked away from her as the door shut. "Fuck him," he shouted.

His mom pinched his ear and shook him. "Stubborn shit. Sugiyama—"

"You bitch," he hissed.

"—is the _Chief_ ," she emphasized. "He has more power than we ever fucking will. He could make our lives hell if he wanted to, and we can't do shit about it. Stop talking to him like an asshole!"

"Maybe if you weren't such a _bitch,_ I wouldn't be an _asshole_ ," Hidan yelled back.

His mom yanked him down and he yelped as she tried to get him in a headlock. "Say that again, little shit."

He could've overpowered her if he wanted to. She used to be an active shinobi, but that was way before he was born. She pulled harder, tightening her grip.

He called her every name he could think of, but he didn't fight back.

**闘争**

Hidan was taken off active duty for three weeks.

On the fourth week, he joined a squad of three chunin and was given a mission to investigate a report of an injured squad from Kumo hiding out in Bamboo Village. If true, they were to kill them all.

Only two of them came back.

**深い**

Hidan tilted his head back to stare at the village gate, hands deep in his pockets.

He stood beneath it, shirtless, bandages wrapped around his lower back, covering a deep gash that ached when he lifted his arms.

He tilted his head to look at an empty spot on the right side of the gate and his already shit mood turned shittier.

Takkao stood to his left, left arm still in a sling. He waved with his right. "Look who finally woke up," he greeted.

Hidan didn't respond right away. "That piece of shit is dead, isn't he?"

Takkao's smile faded. He leaned back against the wall, looking suddenly tired. "Seems so," he answered.

Hidan punched the wall. Pain pulsed down his knuckles and, when he pulled back, they were bruised and red. He grimaced at the sharp pinch at his back. "That _bastard_."

He was sick of feeling like he was about to cry.

"It's been quiet around here," Takkao admitted, looking out at a hot spring. "There aren't enough shinobi to spare for guard duty, so it's been just me. I think I prefer it that way."

Hidan felt wetness on his cheek and slapped it away. He turned and strode away.

**暗い**

A mission to the Land of Fire, where a group of refugees accidentally stumbled upon their camp in the middle of the night and had to die.

A mission to the Land of Water, where an unmarked boat was stealing from caravans along the border of Hot Water. They killed everyone on board.

A bodyguard mission to the Land of Lightning that ended in bloodshed, the death of their client, and no chance of peace between their countries.

Body after body after body.

**海**

Hidan sat on the floor, a plate of spear ribs in front of him.

He was still wearing the bottom half of his uniform. His mom forced him to take off his blood-smeared flak jacket and dirty boots when she saw him in the doorway.

He licked brown sauce off his fingers, pausing when he heard his mom cough behind him, shaking and wheezing so hard she had to clutch the counter to stay upright.

His eyes narrowed. "Stop being a bitch and go see the doctor already."

She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Why don't you mind your own fucking business?" she managed.

Hidan sucked on his pointer finger. "Hard to when you're spitting all over my damn food."

She washed her hands and came close enough to drop a fist on top of his head, grinding her knuckles into his hair. "Ungrateful ass," she said. "Why don't you fucking shut up and focus on stuffing your face? I didn't have to make all that shit for you."

Hidan tried to push her off but she only grabbed his wrist with her free hand. His other was occupied with a half-eaten rib. "Says the dick hole," he grunted.

His mom shoved him and, while he struggled not to drop the rib or touch the dirty floor with his sticky fingers, stole his plate.

"The fuck? Give it back," he shouted.

"Stop being a little shit or I'm throwing it all away."

"Like hell you are!"

She stood. "You can eat them out of the fucking trash then. Or would you prefer to pick them off the floor like a damn dog?"

Hidan opened his mouth, looked all the ribs still on the plate, and shut it.

"That's what I fucking thought," she said. She gave it back, slowly lowering herself, a hand clutching her swollen knee.

Hidan glared at her, mumbling curses between bites.

**さえ**

"From this day forward, Yugakure will no longer be an active participant in the war."

Sugiyama stood outside of the mission office on a raised platform, hands folded together in his hakama sleeves. His forehead was deeply wrinkled, his back beginning to bend in a 'u' shape.

The shinobi crowded in front of him exchanged confused glances. Worried whispers broke out as Sugiyama let the announcement sink in.

Hidan, standing at the back, counted thirty people total.

"That means, effectively, that the village will no longer accept missions outside of our country. Missions that _are_ accepted will be requests made by the daimyo himself," Sugiyama explained. "Our defenses will be maintained, of course, but Yugakure will no longer offer combat-related services in any capacity."

The crowd stared at him in stunned silence.

It took a moment for Hidan to realize what that meant.

What it meant for _him._

"Our Academy will be disbanded, and the youth will no longer have to attend formal training."

Voices rose around him, questions and protests blending into a symphony of chaos.

"What the _fuck_ ," Hidan said.

Sugiyama couldn't _do_ that.

The Academy taught him how to fight.

 _They_ made him kill.

They turned him into a shinobi without ever asking for his consent and now they suddenly wanted him to stop?

Hidan was never taught him to do anything else.

Who was he if he wasn't a shinobi of Yugakure?

Why did Chiharu-sensei, Mina, and Junichiro die if the shinobi system would just be _abandoned_?

"This is done in the interest of the village's future," Sugiyama said over the crowd, and the noise died down. "We simply cannot afford to continue a war with both Konoha—"

What was the point of all the blood on his hands, all the missions he went on?

Why did so many people have to die just for the village to take the coward's way out?

"—and Kumo with our remaining forces—"

What was the _point?_

"You can't fucking do this," Hidan shouted.

Those closest to him stared at him in shock or disapproval, but Hidan didn't give a damn.

Why weren't they asking _why_ too?

If they were pulling out of the war then-then Atsushi died for no reason.

Sugiyama looked at him and Hidan saw a flash of recognition, the downward twist of his lips.

Hidan flat-out _refused_ to respect a man who made all the lives lost to the war mean _nothing._

This wasn't fucking fair.

"This was not an easy decision, but a necessary one," Sugiyama finally responded, his tone full of scorn. "Should the village continue its current course, there will be no shinobi left alive to see the end of the war. Is that the future you prefer to see?"

It wasn't, but this wasn't the right way either.

Why let it go on for so long?

How the shit was he just supposed to _stop_? He bled for Yugakure, he'd taken the lives of innocents and the guilty alike, and now, what, none of that mattered?

People started to turn away from him as Sugiyama wordlessly dismissed him, pity or mockery in their eyes.

Hidan didn't have a solution, sure, but fuck _this._

"Fuck you!" he yelled.

Sharp looks were thrown his way, equal parts disgust and anger, but Hidan had been ignoring looks like that his whole life. He wasn't about to start caring now.

An older shinobi turned and grabbed the collar of Hidan's flak-jacket in his fist, jerking him forward. "Show some respect," he spat. "That's your _Chief._ "

Hidan shoved him as hard as he could and the old man fell. "Touch me again and I'll cut off your hands and shove them up your ass," he shouted.

More people turned to yell at him.

Bolstered by his confidence, a female near the front called Sugiyama a bitch. A man asked how he was supposed to feed his family. Another rushed forward, yelling threats, and went down under a tangle of hands and feet. Another woman tried to pull people off him and was pushed back.

A fist was thrown from somewhere in the middle and it dissolved into a brawl. People tried to intervene, to break it up, and were dragged down into the fistfight.

Hidan's arm was grabbed. He punched his assailant and she stumbled back, clutching her face.

Three more shinobi came at him. He got a few good hits in before they wrenched his arms behind his back. "You cock suckers," he yelled as he was shoved to the ground, feeling the scrape of gravel against his cheek. He kicked at them until they pinned his legs.

"I'll piss on all of you," he threatened. He saw disgust flit over a few faces, but they didn't let him go.

Later, when the fight was contained and the injured hauled off, they dragged him home, having tied his wrists and ankles with wire. He screamed every curse he knew, but they only tossed him roughly down on his doorstep and turned their backs to him.

"Someone needs to teach that thing his place," one muttered.

" _Demon_ ," another said, glaring at Hidan.

"Suck my dick," Hidan shouted back.

"That monster should be locked up," a third added.

"Did you hear about what he did to his teammates?" someone else whispered.

Hidan wriggled violently. "Come back and say that to my face, shit wipe!"

They didn't acknowledge him.

After, a message would be delivered to him from Sugiyama, telling him he was banned from any and all future meetings.

**もっと深く**

A week later, the mission's office closed for good.

With a plummeting demand for gear and weapons, most of the shops in the market that catered mainly to shinobi quickly followed.

Two teams of four jonin were stationed around the perimeter of the village. The rest were left to find civilian jobs and assimilate into their forced state of peace.

Hidan tried (the only person who gave him the time of day was a senile old crone who wanted her house painted. She didn't take too kindly to being told to fuck off when she tried to correct the way he applied the paint).

The civilians feared him, the shinobi didn't like him, and Hidan would be damned if he was going to beg these people for anything.

He shouldn't have bothered.

He could count the number of people that openly protested Sugiyama's mandate on one hand, but ultimately, nothing changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ホーム - Home, 闘争 - Struggle, 深い - Deep, 暗い - Dark, 海 - Sea, さえ - Even, もっと深く - Deeper
> 
> This chapter takes place over two years.  
> I tried very hard to make Sugiyama reasonable.


End file.
